About Face
by screennameless
Summary: When Kimiko finds herself in a holding cell, Clay is the first person she thinks to call. A few hours later, she's living in his house - but his roommate, Raimundo, can't understand why they haven't called the police about Kim's black eye. -AU-
1. Day One

_A word of warning: In later installments, this fic may verge on an exercise in maximalist writing. As I was taught, the premise of maximalism is, "Leaving nothing out, and a story will emerge from the muddle." This is me writing without telling myself to hold back or cut down, and it may become very wordy. That said, dear reader, please let me know if I get so verbose that I've lost you completely._

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><p>"I'd like to make my phone call, please."<p>

The policeman glanced at the young woman in the detention cage. Her raven hair was matted with blood, locks knotted and half-ripped from her scalp. One strand trailed around a purple, swollen eye, glued to her forehead by sweat and grime. Yellowing discolorations in the shape of palms and fingers painted her skin. The sleeve of her tight babydoll tee was torn, dangling around her bicep, and her jeans bore fraying gashes along the thighs. She was tiny, no more than five-foot-two and probably not more than one hundred pounds wet. But the other eye focused on him clearly, burning in that pristine shade of blue at the center of a flame.

After a moment's hesitation, he crooked a finger at a fellow cop. They unlocked the gate and swung it open. "Approach slowly," the guard warned her. "We'll escort you."

She stood on bare feet, her ankles wobbly. The chains on the handcuffs clinked as she meekly extended her arms, but the eye scorched them as they each took her by a shoulder and steered her to the public phone, a wall-mounted canary-yellow monstrosity from the eighties. They released her. Chains jangling, she fumbled with the receiver, her hands too close together to handle the phone. She shouldered closer and contorted her wrists and arms to punch in the digits.

Ringing. Tone. Prerecorded instructions. Prompt.

"Kimiko Tohomiko," she murmured.

More ringing. She counted them:

One.

A sniff from the cop on her left.

Two.

Whistling from the detention cage behind her.

Three.

The clickety-click, clickety-click, clickety-click of someone stalling on their paperwork.

Fou-

"There a reason I'm gettin' a collect call at three-thirty-two in the mornin'?"

His voice was drowsy, indignant, the usual drawl reduced to a slur. Her fingers curled around the receiver.

"Clay? It's me."

That got him awake. "Kimiko?" He pronounced her name as if he had trouble wrapping his tongue around the syllables.

"Listen, I need a place to stay for a while." She hesitated. "A long while." Her volume dropped; her tone softened. "Can I come over?"

No hesitation: "Always."

* * *

><p>Kimiko showed up at the doorstep of his semi-detached some five hours later, her knuckles white against the handle of her suitcase. The narrow windows framing the front door were reflective, and she gave herself a quick once-over. She looked cleaner. Ripped jeans were fashionable, anyway.<p>

Her dented suitcase lagged on the ground behind her. She bent to heave it onto his stoop when the door opened. "Thought I heard a car pull up," Clay told her, tilting his cowboy hat with a spare hand. His eyes looked straight past the clean clothes to the ratty hair peeking out from under her hoodie, the stitches on her forehead, the swollen eye. A weak smile crossed her face, and he responded in kind, extending a hand. She took it, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. "It's been a long time," he murmured, taking care not to squeeze her.

She burrowed into his button-down shirt and let that be her response.

Releasing her, he hefted her suitcase onto a single shoulder and held the door open with his free hand. "Still a gentleman, I see?" she teased, entering the foyer.

"Naturally," he grinned. He reared back and pushed the door shut with his foot. "I made up the spare room for you. I'll take your things up - why don't you crash on the settee for a spell?"

She smiled. "Sounds heavenly."

He pointed down the hallway. "The sitting room's right down there, past the half-bath. You can't miss it - open concept." He waggled his brows at that, and she returned with a smirk. Tipping his hat, he adjusted her suitcase and started up the stairs.

For a moment, she stood in the foyer, absorbing her surroundings: a hand-knit welcome mat; crown, shoe, and chair molding painted a crisp country white; low-gloss wood tones for every floor; masculine greens, blues, and neutrals on each wall, softened by decorative heirloom china. She walked down the entranceway, past the half-bath, and into a great room. Glancing to her left, she immediately recognized the couch Clay had spoken of: a plush, fading sofa with a red-and-gold paisley print, framed by two ruddy leather highbacks. She sank onto the couch, and a sigh bubbled up from within her chest. Her eye fluttered closed, and she drifted in and out of consciousness for some time.

A latch clicked, but she dismissed it, curling into herself. She barely registered the shoes dropping to the tray or the paper rustling or the feet padding down the hall. But she heard the voice:

"The hell?"

She jerked into an uncomfortable half-seated, half-lying position, her fingers clutching her hood. Her eye blazed at the source of the question. He was tan and athletic, almost as tall as Clay, with tousled dark hair defined by a sharp widow's peak. He cradled a loaded paper grocery bag in one arm, and it crinkled as he shifted his stance. Emerald eyes flashed at her.

"Clay?" he called, holding her gaze defiantly. "What's with the hobo on our couch?"

"Excuse me?" Kimiko demanded, vaulting off the sofa. "You want this 'hobo' to kick you in the family jewels?"

A thundering of feet, and Clay skidded around the corner in between them. "Jesus, Rai, you really need to learn to shut your trap," he hissed, resting a hand on Kimiko's shoulder. He inhaled, then: "Kim, this is my buddy, Raimundo. Rai, this is Kimiko - my oldest friend."

They glared at each other over Clay's outstretched arm. A long second passed. Raimundo looked away first. "Yeah, whatever." He shifted his gaze back to her, avoiding her bad eye. "You grew up with Clay, then?"

She pushed a matted chunk of hair behind her ear demurely, but her tone was sharp: "We went to high school together."

His brows raced for his hairline. "Really? The swanky one?"

"Kimiko's gonna be stayin' with us 'til she gets back on her feet," Clay interrupted, blocking her advance with his arm. The set of his shoulders dared Raimundo to say anything as he asked, "That won't be a problem now, will it?"

Raimundo raised his hands in surrender, the grocery bag crunching. "Hey, dude, I pay _you_ rent, not the other way around." He cast a quick look in Kimiko's direction, and his eyes flickered towards her blackened one. "Sorry. I have brain-to-mouth disease."

She only stared at him, so he brushed past them both to the kitchen, dumping the bags on the counter and busying himself with a clatter of pots and pans. Clay caught her eye, and he led her to the stairs.

"Sorry 'bout Rai," Clay said as they reached the upper landing. "He's not so bad if you know how to handle him."

Kimiko let out a derisive snort. "I can only imagine."

"Look, I know he'll make you more ornery than my granddaddy's mule, but he's my friend." Clay paused in front of her room, his hand on the doorknob. "And speaking of mules-" His voice lowered. "-you wanna tell me why you look like you've been kicked by one?"

Kimiko blinked at him, then sighed. "Makoto."

She felt rather than heard the fury in his words. "Are you kiddin' me?"

"Relax," she murmured, pressing a palm to his arm. "I took care of it."

He yanked on the collar of her hoodie, revealing the bruises, the torn t-shirt. "This don't look like taking care of it," he snapped.

"I said, 'relax'." Another sigh. "Remember how he wouldn't shut up about that wall he wanted to blow out?" Her lips twisted into a smile. "Let's just say I started the demo for him. With his head." He still glared at her, but she saw a flicker of pride in his eyes, and she ventured, "Look, Clay, you know I'm not _that _stupid. He never laid a hand on me until last night."

Clay exhaled, and the anger left with his breath. "I still can't believe you let that dirty snake lay a hand on you, period," he muttered as he opened the door.

"What was that?" she demanded, grabbing his arm.

"Nothin'." At a normal volume, he continued, "I tried to remember what colors you liked, but..." He rubbed the back of his head, knocking his hat forward. "Well, I kinda forgot. So I just picked somethin' girly."

The walls were a light gray with a charcoal carpet, accented by the house's white molding: generic neutrals for a guest room. But sheer curtains had been strewn haphazardly about the windows, and a white-and-lavender quilted comforter was draped over the shabbily made bed. Her suitcase leaned against a weathered, hand-painted vanity, and although there was no closet, a matching armoire sat kitty-corner opposite the door. A cushy purple chair and two lavender lamps on the end tables completed the room.

"You don't like it."

His disappointment broke her reverie, and she beamed at him. "No, it's perfect." She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and he thumbed his hat.

"Kimiko, you're gonna make me blush!" he laughed, but he flipped her hood in a brotherly manner and ushered her inside. She trailed a finger along the vanity.

"Wasn't this your mother's old furniture?"

He shrugged. "I gave her a call around four o'clock and picked 'em up. Couldn't have you comin' home to a room with a bed and a couple storage bins, could I?" Puffing out his chest, he pointed out the armchair. "I bought that last minute, though. Hope you don't mind the fact that it's a floor model."

His obvious pride was irresistible. "You did great, Clay," she praised. "It's me."

"Well-" He cut himself off and sniffed the air. "Is that-?" Another sniff, followed by a frown. "Come on."

Together, they trekked down the stairs. "Rai?" Clay called. "Tell me you're not burnin' down the kitchen again."

Raimundo flung his arms wide. "Come _on_, dude, will you _ever_ let that go?" He pointed with a spatula at the set table. "I made apology breakfast."

A grin split Clay's face. "Flank steak, a half-dozen eggs, and a plate of hash browns?"

"You know it." Raimundo extended a fist, and Clay rapped his knuckles on the way to the table. Rai shifted his attention to Kimiko. "There's apology breakfast for you, too."

She pursed her lips, but she eyed the table all the same. Two Belgian waffles, topped by sliced bananas and a rosette of whipped cream, taunted her. Her shoulders relaxed, and she seated herself opposite Clay, taking the plate. "Do I dare ask?" she droned, reaching for a fork.

Raimundo set his own plate on the table and slid into a seat. "It's a college thing," he explained.

"He flew my hat from the flagpole," Clay clarified between bites.

"And it was hilarious," Rai elaborated.

"You didn't think it was so hilarious once I locked you out of the dorm with nothin' but your drawers on," Clay countered, a playful smirk stretching his face.

Raimundo dipped some wheat toast into his eggs. "Anyway, I told the big guy here I'd buy him breakfast to get back into the room." He gave Clay a rueful smile. "One empty wallet later, and voila! Apology breakfast was born." He jabbed a fork in Clay's direction. "And it was too hilarious."

Kimiko arched a brow at them. "Okay then..." They ate in silence for a while before she spoke again. "So you two met in college?"

Clay nodded. "Freshman roommates."

"Turned forever roommates," Raimundo joked, stacking the empty plate of hashbrowns on top of his own.

"Hey now, partner, you're the one crashin' my bachelor pad," Clay called as Raimundo headed for the dishwasher.

"Yeah, the bachelor pad with Auntie Em's favorite dish set on the walls." The plates clinked, and Raimundo leaned on the counter, arms crossed. "You see what I have to deal with here?" he appealed, grinning at Kimiko.

She managed a wry twist of her lips as she passed her plate to him. He laid it in the washer with the others. Clay's fork scraped on his dish.

"So, ah..." Clay and Kimiko turned to Raimundo expectantly, but he became absorbed with a stain on the counter and avoided their eyes as he spoke. "What exactly... _happened_... here?" He gestured vaguely in Kimiko's direction, then seemed to think better of himself and murmured, "If you don't mind my asking."

Clay sawed at the remainder of his steak, the brim of his hat a barrier against them. Brushing a stray hair out of her face, Kimiko fixed her good eye on Raimundo. "I do mind you asking."

He watched her for a moment, and she glared at him in response. Clay scraped the last of the food from his plate. "I-"

"Drop it, Rai," Clay cautioned darkly.

"Alright, alright," Raimundo retorted, raising his hands again. "Jeez." Clay only held out his dish, and Rai took it and tossed it in with the rest. The door shut with a loud whud, and the washer chugged to life and rumbled pleasantly at them. "Anyway," Raimundo said, "I have to go pick up Omi in a few." He cocked a brow at Clay. "You mind if he comes over again? He keeps bugging me about chess."

Clay shook his head, unable to resist a grin. "He's still on about that?"

"I keep trying to tell him he won't win, but-" Rai shrugged just as he caught Kimiko's confused expression. A soft smile crossed his face. "Ah. Right. Omi's my little bro. Well," he caught himself, "not really. He's my Little with the Big Brothers Big Sisters program." He checked his watch. "Aaand I'm going to be totally late picking him up." He snatched some keys off the counter and strode for the hall, but he stopped in the door frame and considered Kimiko, focusing on her black eye. "You know what? I'll take him to the park today. We'll play some soccer," he tossed over his shoulder, and seconds afterward, the door shut behind him.

Kimiko stared in his wake, then turned to gape at Clay. "Him? Seriously?"

Clay smirked and tapped her chin with his knuckle. "Close your mouth. It ain't ladylike."

She swatted his hand away. "How could anyone look at that jerk and think 'role model'?"

With a shrug, Clay stood and motioned toward the living room. "They've been Big and Little for as long as I've known Rai," he explained as she followed him to the couch. "He told me they got matched on account of them being ESL, but I think the fact that Rai's younger than your average Big had a lot to do with it."

Kimiko shook her head. "I guess I'll believe it when I see it."

Clay grinned. "I'll bet." He paused, considering his words, then: "Listen, I've gotta head up to school, run some errands. I wasn't plannin' to, what with you movin' in, but..." He searched her face. "Well, you seem pretty alright, considerin'. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," she replied hurriedly. "I'm sure this is a huge inconvenience-"

"It's nothin' of the kind," he answered, ruffling her hood. "You make yourself comfortable while I'm out, alright? Unpack and all that."

She nodded, and he stood, stretching his arms over his head. "Wait- Clay." He glanced at her, and she fumbled her words. "Just... um... thanks. For, y'know-" She gestured to the house. "-everything."

He gave her a soft look, and his hand reached out to rub her shoulder. "Well, I wasn't plannin' on sayin' 'I told you so' - but you know I'd been waiting three years for that call." His thumb grazed her cheek, right under her black eye. "I just didn't imagine you'd look like this when you got here."

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><p><em>About this fic: <em>_I'm a little afraid to post this, as it's something of an experiment. It also happens to have the plot of a Lifetime Movie of the Week. In other words, it's a Hurt/Comfort AU._

_Don't run away yet! Let me explain:_

_I'm a little disturbed by the number of Hurt/Comfort fics - often AUs - in which fiery, no-nonsense, tough-as-nails Kimiko gets abused by some dope so Raimundo can come to her rescue (or, occasionally, the reverse). __I understand that this is the basic premise of Hurt/Comfort - someone gets hurt, someone comforts (duh). However, Kimiko is not the sort of character that would suffer abuse lightly, nor would she happily accept another's 'comfort'._

_I believe that a Hurt/Comfort fic - even a Hurt/Comfort AU - can be executed without ignoring these basic aspects of her character. So, I've decided to try my hand at it._

_Let me know what you think, and as always, thanks for reading._


	2. Day Two

_I'll admit I was a little surprised by the response to this! Some of you might scoff, "What response? Five reviews? Please." But that's five more reviews than I was expecting. So enjoy the second installment of this little experiment, I suppose._

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><p>Kimiko turned the faucet handle, and the water stopped with a loud whump. The patter of droplets on the shower tile receded. She closed her eye and let the steam rise around her, warming her bare skin.<p>

Reaching back, she wrung out her hair, cringing at the mats and knots that still scraped her fingers. She shook her conditioner bottle over her hand, squeezing, but she had emptied it some ten minutes earlier. Toying with the worst of the knots, she sighed and lobbed the bottle into the porcelain wastebasket before grabbing a towel. Gently, she dried herself, wincing when she rubbed a bruise and only daubing at her black eye. She let her wet hair slap against her back.

Wrapping the towel about her slender frame, she pushed the curtain aside and pressed her toes to the tile. She approached the foggy mirror over the counter and wiped it down, staring at a foreign reflection: hair ruined; eye swollen; skin purpled and yellowed along her neck, collarbone, shoulders, arms. Only her good eye, flaring blue in the light, was recognizable.

"Idiot," she grumbled at her reflection. "Should've washed your hair _before_ going to bed... Maybe then it would've been salvageable..."

Grousing under her breath, she grabbed her toiletry bag from under the counter and rummaged through it. She retrieved a comb and tucked the edge of the towel under her elbow, studying herself in the mirror again.

With a shake of her head, she took a fistful of hair and steeled herself before working the comb into her hair. It ran through. She sighed, smiling, but the next run stopped just above her ear at one of the bigger mats, and a groan escaped her. Removing the comb, she pulled at the hair with her fingers, loosening the strands, then tried again. Part of the mat straightened, but a portion of her hair broke off, caught on the teeth. She cursed.

Fifteen minutes passed this way before she lost patience. "Stupid comb!" It banged against the mirror and dropped into the sink, and she gripped the edge of the counter for stability, gritting her teeth. Some of her hair draped neatly around her face, weak and thin but detangled, while most of it remained knotted about her cheeks and scalp. She pressed her eye shut and put her hands to her temples. A deep breath, then she looked upwards, facing her reflection. She plucked the comb from the sink and dug her fingers into the torn hair between its teeth. Ripping the comb free, she let the hair fall into the sink and jammed the comb into another mat.

The door handle clicked, and she jerked around to look at the intruder, grabbing at her towel. Raimundo stared back at her, holding his pajama pants up with one hand. His eyes flicked from her face to her bare shoulders, and his brow furrowed.

Her cheeks warmed, and her temper flared. "Take a picture; it'll last longer."

He blinked at her as if surprised that her head was still attached to her body. "Sorry. Not used to having to knock."

Kimiko nodded, the comb still wedged in her hair, and said nothing. Raimundo fidgeted in the doorway. "Um. Do you mind?" He pointed at the shower. "I'll just jump in real quick, and you can keep doing-" He paused, frowning, then waved at her head. "-whatever _that_ is."

She stared at him for a long moment, gripping the counter, before she exhaled and nodded. Leaving the door open behind him, he quickly turned on the shower and tested the water. "Oh, thank God," he breathed. "Still hot."

Kimiko paused, the comb halfway through a knot. "What do you mean, 'still hot'?"

He smirked at her. "Girl, do you know how long you've been in this shower?"

She glared at him in the mirror, and he responded with a leer and immediately began to drop his pants. She forced her eyes to the sink so quickly that he had to laugh. "Jerk," she fumed.

"Take a picture; it'll last longer," he snickered, stepping into the shower.

The crashing of the water on the tile drowned out her grumbled complaints, and she returned her focus to her hair. Puffing out her cheeks, she studied what remained of the mats and forced a smile for her own benefit. "Well, it's progress," she attempted. Raimundo whistled innocuously, and she threw a toothbrush at the shower curtain. It bounced off, eliciting more laughter.

Kimiko growled and shook her head to focus. Gripping the comb, she raked it through a mat, pulling most of the hair straight. Again and again, she tugged, yanked, dragged, fought, losing track of time altogether.

A sharp pain flashed through her scalp. "Ah! Shit!" she hissed, yanking the comb away and glaring at it. Another chunk of her hair stared back at her. She tore it out and started to rake the comb through a mat when damp hands caught her own.

"Jeez, girl." Raimundo pried the comb from her grip. "You _trying_ to tear all your hair out?"

She failed to react, preoccupied with trying to determine when the shower had shut off. He sighed. "Here..." He nudged the tips of the comb's teeth into a mat and pulled gently. The hair loosened, and he repeated the process. The knots came partially undone, and he ran the comb through the section effortlessly. "Much better."

Whirling, she snatched the comb from him and stood up. "I didn't ask for your help!" she snapped.

He reached out to catch her wrist but jerked his hand back, sending it to the towel around his waist instead. "Fine," he retorted. "If you want to end up half-bald, go for it. Probably wouldn't make much of a difference."

Her eye blazed in his direction. "Just who do you think you are, huh?"

"Raimundo Pedrosa, former circus brat and professional slacker, at your service." He held out a hand for a shake. "You?"

She punched his arm, and he smirked in response. Collecting her fury, she marched to the door and threw it open. "You've finished your shower," she spat, motioning to the hallway.

Raimundo studied her for a moment, then with a leisurely roll of his shoulders, he stood and ambled to the doorway. "Ay, let me know if you want an ice pack or anything for that eye," he added.

"If I want it, I'll get it myself," she snarled, and slammed the door.

* * *

><p>A half hour later, Kimiko left her room, clad in an oversize t-shirt and her oldest jeans. Conversation from the first floor filtered up the stairwell and into the hallway, but as she reached the landing, the voices grew tense, and she slowed to a tip-toe as she descended the steps.<p>

"Come on, Clay!"

"For the last time, Rai, I've told you everythin' I can," Clay answered, his words carrying from the kitchen.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairwell, she strained against the banister, trying to hear Raimundo's response: "And I'm calling your bluff, dude. You can't seriously tell me you don't know what happened to her."

"We haven't spoken in three years, Rai," Clay protested. "I don't know what else to tell."

"Yeah," Raimundo snarked, "you haven't spoken for three years, and suddenly she shows up looking like someone took a _hammer_ to her face, and you don't even bat an eye."

"Brother, this ain't the time," Clay attempted.

"Clay, I _saw_ the bruises today, when she finally got out of the damn shower," Raimundo pressed. "You know it's not just her eye, right? It's all over her arms, her chest-"

"Rai-"

"There's a _handprint_ on her collarbone."

Kimiko's fingers went to her neck involuntarily, touching the sore spot where her throat and shoulder connected. There was silence from the kitchen.

"Clay, if she's been hurt, we need to tell someone," Raimundo insisted, and Kimiko felt her breathing hitch.

She heard liquid being poured into a cup. Clay's voice was calm. "Seems to me that's her option."

The clink of dishes.

"Please tell me you're joking."

No response.

"You're joking."

A loud, mocking slurp.

"I can't believe this. What happened to Mister Chivalry, ay?"

The thud of a cup being placed too hard on a counter. "Kim can handle herself," Clay responded evenly, his words laced with just a touch of bitterness.

Kimiko felt her fingers tighten on the banister, but her attention was immediately stolen by a chair grinding across the kitchen tile. "What's with you two?" Raimundo demanded.

"Rai, sit down-"

"Tell me what happened-"

"I said, _sit down_-"

"Hey, I live here, too, dude!"

"And you'll be out faster than you can count to five in Portuguese if you don't _sit down right now_."

Long, tense silence. Kimiko released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. Then the jingling of keys.

"Rai-" Clay attempted.

She heard stomping down the hall as she fled up the stairs.

"Rai!"

The latch rattled, and the front door slammed. She watched Clay walk to the door and peer out as a car peeled off in the distance. Sighing, he peeked up the stairs.

"You heard all that?"

Face flushing, Kimiko crept back down to his side. "Most of it." She ran a hand through her hair, looking anywhere but at Clay. "Where's he going?"

Clay shrugged.

Kimiko arched her eyebrows. "Is he coming back?"

"He has so far," Clay replied, locking the door and turning away. "Want some tea?"

She trailed behind him into the kitchen. He took a kettle off the stove and poured the water into a delicate china cup. Plucking a teabag from a decorative canister, he dropped it into the steaming water and stirred it once. "Clay, what if he goes to the police?" she asked quietly.

Another shrug. "He'll only learn the truth, at most." Clay mulled that over as he let a sugar cube plop into her teacup. "He might hassle you about droppin' charges. Here."

She blinked, too stunned to refuse the tea. "How'd you-"

"I stopped by the station while I was out yesterday. Had the boys there make a few calls," he offered. "Perks of Daddy bein' the sheriff. Drink your tea."

She started to protest, but snapped her mouth shut and sipped obligingly, leaning against the counter. "I didn't know he cared," she muttered grudgingly into her cup.

Clay took his hat off and adjusted the brim. "Rai's got a mouth, but he's nothin' but seriousness where it counts to him," he answered simply.

"Clay, I think you're _way_ overestimating how much I 'count' to him," Kimiko scoffed.

One last shrug. "Doin' what's right counts to him."

They stayed that way for a while, leaning on the counter as Kimiko drank her tea. Finally, Clay murmured, "He does make a point, though."

Kimiko felt her throat tighten. "It's not his business - or yours."

Clay looked at her, then stretched and poured himself a cup of tea. "Fair enough."

* * *

><p>It was dark out when two quick knocks sounded at her bedroom door. Kimiko looked up from her laptop as the handle turned, and Raimundo peered in at her. "Hey," he said.<p>

"Hey," she replied, sitting up straighter on her bed. "You're back."

"I'm back," he confirmed.

"You missed lunch," she told him, her face betraying more concern than her voice. "And dinner."

He shrugged. "I grabbed some food while I was out." His gaze wandered around her room, skimming over the antique furniture, the lavender accents, the purple armchair. "Huh. Not half bad for the cowboy." His eyes met hers. "You like it?"

Kimiko nodded, her hand poised on the laptop screen, pressing it down just slightly. They stared at each other. Raimundo scratched his ear. "So. Um." He drummed his fingers on her doorframe. "I brought you a thing."

She hesitated before shutting her laptop and patting the comforter beside her. Closing the door, he crossed the carpet and sat lightly on the edge of the bed as if testing whether it would hold his weight. He tugged a gift card from his pocket and gave it to her upside-down. She turned it over with both hands. "Old Navy?"

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I passed one while I was out. I figured you could replace your hobo clothes."

She punched his arm but pocketed the card all the same. "Thanks," she muttered.

"Ow! Remind me not to buy you things anymore," he teased, rubbing his arm exaggeratedly and prompting her to give him a second, lighter blow on the shoulder. He grinned, and after a moment, she smiled back. "Oh, and I put an ice pack in the freezer. In case, ah-" He gestured to his eye.

Her smile faded, and her hand brushed her cheek. "Thanks," she repeated, a little quieter.

They sat on the bed in silence, he watching her, she pointedly avoiding his gaze. "So!" he announced, making her jump. "What'd you go to school for?"

She stared at him. "Sorry?"

"I'm making conversation." Raimundo grinned, bouncing on the bed a little. "You know, that thing where you say words and other people say words back, usually about themselves or the weather?"

Kimiko pushed his face away, but she failed to suppress her smile, and his grin widened. "I majored in software engineering," she admitted.

A low whistle escaped him. "So you're an enormous math nerd, is what you're saying."

She held up a fist. "I will use this."

"Chill, girl," he chuckled, "I can respect someone who can code a videogame."

She shook her head, smoothing the comforter by her sides. "So what about you?"

He laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Oh, no," she retorted. "I told you what I majored in. Your turn."

"Nah, I'm good," he teased, reclining on her bed.

Her hand found her pillow, and she whacked him in the face with it. "You owe me, mister."

"I don't think s-Ay! Not the hair!" He caught the pillow on the second swing and wrestled with her for it. She wrenched it from his grip and smacked him off the bed with it. He dropped to his knees on the carpet, talking quickly: "No, I'm serious; there's no way you'd buy it-Augh! Christ, you put rocks in those pillows or what?"

"I'm going to keep beating you up until you answer," Kimiko interrupted, raising the pillow.

"Nonono, stop, okay." He held up both index fingers. "We'll compromise. I work a couple part-time jobs. My main one is at a restaurant right now - I'm a line chef. That's what I do." He cocked a brow. "Good enough?"

She pursed her lips, then gave him a final whack with the pillow. "I'll accept it."

Raimundo rubbed his jaw. "Some acceptance." He eyed her as she relaxed, then sprang to his feet, wresting the pillow from her hands. They tumbled onto the bed in a fit of laughter, and he boffed her in the shoulder. She winced.

He jumped back, the pillow discarded. "Shit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." His eyes were wide as he approached her again. "That was stupid. I'm sorry. You oka-"

"I'm fine," Kimiko interrupted, groping for her laptop.

"Are you s-"

"I'm _fine_," she insisted, her good eye pinning him to the floor where he stood. Her hand grazed the laptop, and she looked away. "I'm going to bed now," she stated, apropos of nothing.

He started to say something, but shoved his hands in his pockets instead. "Fine," he echoed, reluctantly heading for the door.

"Hey."

Raimundo glanced back at her. She avoided his eyes.

"Thanks for the gift card."

He watched her for a moment. "Anytime," he said, and he shut the door behind him.

* * *

><p><em>The next chapter's about half-finished, so check back in a few days, maybe a week. I'm hoping to see a little Omi in Chapter Three, but it might be Chapter Four.<em>

_I'd also like to specifically acknowledge IJ and Secretiveninjathingy101 for their reviews. Thanks for the compliments, you two. It means a lot to me to know I've been keeping them in character - or at least that you think so, yeah? :P_

_Let me know what you think, and as always, thanks for reading._


	3. Day Three

The bell jingled. A petite teenage employee jerked her head up from the pile of jeans she was folding to beam at the door. "Hi! Welcome to Old Navy! Can I get you anything?"

Kimiko had to grin, adjusting her sunglasses. "First day?"

The girl laughed. "Does it show?" She expertly snapped a pair of jeans into a neat box and dropped it with a fwap on the table. "But seriously, need anything?"

"Actually-" Kimiko rummaged in her purse and produced the gift card. "-my friend gave me this, but he didn't write the value on it. Can you check the balance real quick?"

"Sure thing!" The girl plucked the card from between Kimiko's fingers and bustled to the counter. Pushing a pile of hangers onto the floor, she swiped the card and punched a few numbers. "Let's see... you've got seventy-five dollars on there," she chirped, handing the card back.

Kimiko blinked at her through the sunglasses. "I'm sorry; what?"

"It's a seventy-five-dollar gift card," she repeated, smiling and tilting her head. "Birthday present, right?"

"Uh, no." Kimiko looked at the card again. "No, not at all."

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Someone special, then?"

"Ah-" Kimiko studied the card and pocketed it. "No. Nothing like that." Before the girl could say anything else, Kimiko gave her a half-smile. "Listen, I haven't been shopping in a while. Want to help me pick stuff out?"

The girl allowed the change of topic and nudged her head in the direction of the jeans. "I ought to finish the folding-"

"Oh, come on. Giving a customer special attention'll look good for you," Kimiko grinned, fiddling with the strap of her purse. "Please?"

The girl cocked her head. "What's your deal?"

Kimiko shrugged. "You remind me of a friend from back home. She had your smile. So..." She trailed her finger along the credit card scanner. "Will you help?"

The girl picked up the hangers and dumped them on the counter before offering her hand. "My name's Trina."

"Kimiko." They shook hands.

Beaming, Trina pointed towards the back of the store. "How about we start with shirts? We have some old graphic tees that are kinda pretty at ten dollars a pop or so back there. You can get a bunch."

"Lead the way," Kimiko grinned.

Hopping the counter, Trina cut through the woman's section to the clearance rack and flipped through the hangers, giving Kimiko a quick once-over for sizing. "Take a look at these." She held up a pair of small t-shirts, and Kimiko nodded her approval. Trina peeked through the hangers. "You wanna try them on?"

Kimiko's hand grazed her bruised collarbone, covered by a fashionable striped scarf. "No, that's okay." She cracked a grin. "I haven't grown since ninth grade."

Trina laughed and collected the shirts on one arm before grabbing a few more. "I know, right? My dad keeps swearing I'll shoot up any day now, and I'm like, 'Dad. I'm eighteen. I'm going to college in a month. It's not gonna happen.' " She shook her head. "Parents."

Kimiko felt her grin falter. "Yeah, no kidding."

Trina checked the count of the shirts. "Alright, that's forty... Hmm." She snapped her fingers, her eyes brightening. "Oh! Some flouncy halter-top things just went on sale. You want to grab one of those for something dressy?"

Kimiko relaxed, fingering her scarf. "Sure. And can we grab a hoodie, too?" She widened her eyes and lowered her brows in a mock-serious face. "For cold nights."

Trina mirrored the expression. "Obviously." Dropping the serious facade, she smiled again. "But that'll put you at seventy-five. Did you want any pants to wear with these?"

Biting her lip, Kimiko checked her own jeans. The gashes in the denim looked purposeful, as did the bleach spots, but she pulled at the fraying thread and swallowed. "You know what? Can you grab the shirt and the hoodie and meet me at the counter?" She held her hand up to her cheek as if phoning someone. "I'm gonna make a call."

Trina cocked her head but made no comment. "Sure."

Kimiko waited for her to round a display before pulling out a smartphone. She looked at her reflection in the screen for a moment, than sighed and dialed the number quickly. She pressed the phone to one ear and her finger to the other, listening to the ringing.

"_Hai_."

She exhaled. "_Moshi moshi_, Papa."

Silence on the other end of the line. "Kimiko?"

She fingered a shirt on the clearance rack, searching for words. "Hi," she managed.

He maintained a professional tone, but his voice cracked. "This call is very unexpected."

"I know." Her voice dropped. "I'm sorry."

He hesitated, cleared his throat. "Is there something you need?"

She clutched the shirt in her fist, and her eyes watered. She jerked away from the rack, wiping her tears. "It's nothing much," she promised softly. "I was hoping that you could pay for some pairs of pants, and I could send you the money when I'm on my feet again."

For a moment, he did not respond, but before she could apologize, he spoke. "When did you lose your footing?"

She breathed deeply. "I left Makoto."

He mused on that. "I see."

She blinked back tears. "Anyway, a friend gave me a gift card, but apparently seventy-five dollars doesn't go too far at Old Navy anymore. I-"

"A friend?"

"A friend of Clay's," she amended. She glanced around the store again, but no one was nearby to hear her conversation. "I need to replace a lot of my clothes, and his card just barely covers a bunch of shirts. But I need pants." She paused, waiting.

"I see," he repeated, and said nothing else.

She tried to out-wait him, but her voice broke. "Papa, please talk to me."

"Kimiko, after three years of silence, you are calling about pants."

His frankness made her laugh, and a sob escaped with it. "I know. Stupid, huh?" She wiped her cheek. "Typical, begging you for money for clothes, even after all this."

He waited for her to stop sniveling. "Yes," he murmured. "I am glad."

She blinked. "Glad?"

"You are still the daughter I remember." His voice was strong, certain. "For that, I am glad."

She choked back her tears, looking around the store, but she was still alone in the section.

"It is good to hear your voice, Kimiko," he told her, and she heard a tremble when he said her name.

"I've missed you so much, Papa," she sniffed.

"And I you. We have much to discuss-" He paused, then added, "But that can wait for another time. For now, use my credit card number to buy your pants - and maybe a _kimono_ for your Papa, please."

She laughed again, rubbing at her eyes. "Only because it's the very least I owe you."

"Kimiko, just a few months ago, I had given up hope that you would call me. Today, you have given me everything I could possibly hope for." He thought about that. "But perhaps a visit to Japan is in order?"

She chuckled. "Maybe in a month or two." Turning to face the wall, she murmured, "Thanks again, Papa. For everything. I'll fix this. I promise."

"I know you will. I love you, my darling."

She cradled the phone with both hands. "I love you, too."

* * *

><p>Trina looked up from her folding and beamed. "Hey! Finish your call?"<p>

"Yep." Kimiko smiled, fixing her sunglasses on her nose. "Had to convince my dad to pay for the jeans. And some other stuff." She held up two ruffled skirts and clarified, "I'm a little low on money right now."

"I hear you." Trina held out a pile of pants. "These are low-rise skinnies. Should look good on you - you're already wearing a pair. I picked out a couple different shades." She thumbed toward the register, which was now clear of hangers. "I put your other stuff under the counter. Want me to ring you out?"

Kimiko took the jeans. "Trina, please tell me they pay you more than minimum wage here."

"Oh, definitely," Trina grinned, swinging her legs over the counter. "Old Navy gives me a whole extra twenty-five cents per hour." She swiped the tags over the scanner and tossed everything into a large bag, then reconsidered and separated them into two smaller bags. "Gift card?" Kimiko handed it to her, and she scanned it. "You don't want this thing, right?"

Kimiko cocked a brow in response.

"Yeah, nobody cares that they're refillable." Trina trashed the piece of plastic and asked, "Cash or credit?"

"Credit," Kimiko confirmed, reciting her father's card number.

"All right," Trina chirped. "You're good to go." She snapped the bag off the rack and slid it across the counter. "Enjoy your new wardrobe."

"Definitely." Kimiko paused, hand on the counter. "Trina?"

The girl looked up. "Mm?"

"You guys hiring here?"

* * *

><p>The bell on the door jingled as Kimiko exited the store, tucking a copy of her application into her purse. Shoppers bustled by, the mall crowded for a Friday. She leaned on the front window of the Old Navy, her bags rustling, and peeked at her purchases. The ten-dollar clearance shirts, the halter top, and the sweatshirt, paid for by Raimundo's gift card, were in one bag; while the skirts and jeans, paid for with her father's credit, were in the other. Frowning, she considered the first bag. "Seventy-five dollars," she muttered, shaking her head before letting her eyes scan the mallway. They lit on a Hallmark a few slots down, and she pushed off the Old Navy storefront and headed down the hall.<p>

Halfway to the Hallmark, she passed a small salon, and she took a moment to examine her hair in the reflective windows. A few limp strands grazed her face; the rest were messily collected into a butterfly clip to hide the damage. Sighing, she squeezed the clip with one hand, pushing the stray hairs back into its teeth.

"Thinking about a cut?"

She froze, shoulders tensing. Her head turned to the voice, eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. "I might be," she answered.

Although she had elected to cover her bruises, Makoto seemed content to expose his injuries, his tank top and tight jeans barely hiding the worst of the discolorations. Two bandages decorated his cheek and forehead, but his hair obscured them, and her focus instead went to his eyes, dark and unmarred. He scoffed and shrugged a bruised shoulder, his other arm restricted by a sling. "Figures that I wouldn't get a straight answer from you."

She gritted her teeth, tightened her fingers around the handles of her bags, sighed. "Is there a particular reason you're talking to me right now?" Her good eye flickered toward the Hallmark, one slot away.

He tilted a brow. "Touchy as usual?"

"Just a little," she spat.

Shaking his head, he chided, "You ought to be a little more polite than this."

She gaped at him. "Polite? _I_ should be _polite_?"

"It might compensate for the injury, yeah?" Makoto shifted his arm in the sling slightly. "The injury _you_ inflicted, I might add." His eyes bored holes in hers. "The injury I _should_ be getting paid for."

Kimiko glared through her sunglasses, her black eye twinging. "Cut your losses, Makoto. I did."

He snorted. "Yeah, a few bruises to three years of torture and a busted arm. We sure broke even."

"You know what? I don't have time for your shit," Kimiko snarled, brushing past him. He grabbed her arm, squeezing the bruise under her sleeve, and she cringed as he yanked her against his chest.

"That temper's going to be your downfall, Kimiko," he whispered, giving her arm another tug. Kimiko bared her teeth.

"Maybe. But that sling's going to be yours." Her fist slammed into his bad shoulder. With a howl, he loosened his grip. She wrenched her arm free and jabbed an elbow into his nose. He staggered back, cursing, his free hand touching his face and coming away red. She made for the Hallmark, but he lurched forward and threw her against the window of the salon, pinning her with an arm bar.

"Hey! _Hey_!" A heavyset security guard barreled into Makoto, thrusting himself between the fighters. With a growl, Makoto advanced on him. The guard shoved him back, brandishing a walky-talky. "Back off!"

Makoto halted, and the guard looked at Kimiko, whose glasses had been knocked askew, revealing the swollen eye. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.

"Just a misunderstanding, officer," Makoto attempted, his voice too guttural.

"I asked the lady," the guard snapped. He noticed the sling, and for a second time he took stock of the black eye. "You two do this to each other?"

They both stared at him, so he let out a resigned sigh and loosened his stance. "What're your names?" he grumbled.

"Makoto Okuda."

"Kimiko-"

"Tohomiko?" the guard asked, his brow furrowing as he studied her. "The one with Bailey's kid?"

Makoto smirked as Kimiko growled, "We're _friends_, yes."

The guard looked at the sling, then back to her. "I can see the resemblance."

She replaced her glasses. "Now that we've established whom I'm connected to, can I be returned to my shopping experience?" she droned, adjusting her shirt sleeves.

A moment of hesitation, then the guard nodded. "Sure, sure." She was backing away even as he added, "Just head home soon as you're done, alright?"

Makoto sneered. "The cowboy's getting you out of trouble again, huh?"

"Shut up," the security guard retorted, twisting around to glare at him just before Kimiko bolted for the Hallmark.

* * *

><p>The front door shut behind Kimiko with a quiet click of the latch. "Raimundo? Clay?"<p>

"In the kitchen," the latter called.

She followed Clay's voice down the hall to find him poring over a textbook at the table. "Hey. Have you seen Raimundo?"

Clay shook his head, concentrating on his reading. "He got called in to one of his daytime jobs. Should be back in a few. Whatcha need him for?"

Kimiko dumped her shopping bags on the table. "I got him a card." She pulled it from the bag and held it up.

Clay buried his nose in his book, but his eyebrows raised. "Don't tell me you're sweet on him now?"

She swatted his arm with the card. "Not in this lifetime. But..." She paused, smoothing the card with her thumbs. "He gave me a gift, so he at least deserves a thank-you note."

"Yep," Clay agreed, pressing a finger to a line of text.

Kimiko cocked a brow, hands on her hips, the card between her fingers. "You are oddly disinterested right now."

"I'm just busy with this studyin'," he answered.

"Uh-huh." The clock ticked. With a sigh, she leaned heavily over the table. "That security guard called you, didn't he?"

Clay looked up, holding his place with a finger. "Well, what did you expect, Kim?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't know; some respect for my privacy?"

He nudged his hat back with his thumb. "You're livin' with the lieutenant's son. You think I'm not gonna hear about your run-ins with the boys in blue?"

"It wasn't the 'boys in blue;' it was a _mall security guard_," she snapped, crossing her arms, the card tucking into her elbow.

"A mall security guard who broke up a fight between you and Makoto Okuda." He shut the textbook with a loud whap. "Now ain't that a kick in the pants?"

Kimiko glared at him. "Don't start this now, Clay-"

"Then when should I start, Kimiko?" he retorted, rising from his seat. "It's gettin' mighty hard to put off the conversation."

"There is no conversation-"

Clay jabbed a finger into the cover of his textbook. "Dang it, Kim, you should _know_ better-"

"Know better than _what_?" she interrupted, slapping her hands to the table.

"-Hanging around with him-"

" 'Hanging around'?" she sputtered. "He _cornered_ me-"

"In the middle of a mall?" Clay finished, eyes locked on her. "Kimiko, you must take me for one special kind of a fool."

She opened her mouth, faltered, and changed tactics. "Three years and you're exactly the same-"

Clay's voice lowered. "You're one to talk, miss-"

"Oh, get off your high horse, daddy's boy!" she snarled. "It's never done you any favors!"

"Really, Kim? We're gonna lowball insults at each other now?" His eyes refused to let her go. "Is that how we're gonna play this out?"

"Well, when you make it so easy-" she attempted, but he retook control of the conversation:

"I don't want to fight you, Kimiko-"

"Then _don't_!" she snapped. "Just _stop_!"

"Stop _what_?" he demanded, raising his voice for the first time as he rounded the kitchen table. "Stop carin' about what happens to you?"

"No-" she protested.

"Then _what_, Kim?" He loomed over her, inches from her face. "How _exactly_ have I done you wrong?"

She tossed her hands in the air and turned for the hall. "I give up! You're worse than talking to a brick wall!"

He seized her wrist. "Don't you walk away-"

His grip was firm but gentle, minding her bruises, and in a fury she yanked her arm out of his hand, crushing the card. "Funny. Everyone seems to walk away from you, Clay," she spat.

His jaw tightened as she stormed down the hall. Raimundo was frozen at the front door, eyes wide, his key still in the lock, and she shot him a glare and pushed past to the landing before he skidded in front of her, blocking the stairs. "Whoa, girl, what just happened?" he asked, trying to read her face.

She shoved him out of the way. "Mind your own business, Raimundo." She put her foot on the first step, but his arm shot out, hand slamming against the wall of the stairwell.

"I live here. It _is_ my business," he persisted.

"I said get lost!" Ducking his arm, she started up the stairs, then stopped and backpedaled to slap the crumpled Hallmark card to his chest. "Thanks for the gift card," she snapped, and she stomped to her room and slammed the door.

* * *

><p><em><em>Kimiko shows her softer side around her father, so I let her cry for the first time during the phone call - but only a little, and only when she was certain no one would be around to see. I suppose the huge argument with Clay makes up for it. They fought often in the show, and I'm always surprised at how few fics bring out that vitriol.<em>_

_The challenge was Toshiro. It's hard to stay faithful to a character that only appeared in one episode, but his characterization was strong: a doting, fun-loving father who is intelligent, generous, and a little awkward. It may seem that he forgives too easily here, but given his personality I couldn't imagine him being cold. Instead, I believe he realizes that Kimiko was hurt as deeply by their separation as he was._

_If you can't imagine Kimiko cutting contact with her father, don't worry - I promise that it will be explained in due time, along with everything else. Until then, review with wild theories (or wild criticism, if you are so inclined)!_

_The next chapter will introduce Omi, so check back in a week-ish._

_Let me know what you think, and as always, thanks for reading._


	4. Day Four

_Apologies for the slower update: Work was a little rough this week. On the plus side, it's a longer chapter!_

* * *

><p>Kimiko awoke to three soft knocks upon her door. With a groan, she burrowed deeper under her quilted comforter and pulled a pillow over her head. Three more knocks sounded, slightly louder than before. "Go away," she grumbled, tightening her grip on the sheets.<p>

Her bedroom door creaked. "It's past noon," Raimundo informed her.

She flung the pillow to the floor and glared at him, her hair wild around her face. "I said, 'go away'."

His eyes narrowed, and he met her gaze defiantly. "Don't get pissy with me because you had a fight with Clay," he retorted, shutting the door behind him.

"If it weren't for you and your stupid gift card, I wouldn't have _had_ a fight with Clay," she spat, her fingers tight around the comforter.

Raimundo folded his arms. "Oh, really?" he asked, dragging the syllables just slightly.

Kimiko opened her mouth to argue, but he cocked a brow, and the words died on her tongue. Pursing her lips, she drew her knees up to her chest and allowed him to sit on the end of her bed. "What do you want?" she growled.

He picked at his fingernails, but his eyes refused to let go of her. "Clay's making you breakfast."

Her stomach gurgled. Kimiko tucked her face between her knees, avoiding Raimundo's gaze. "Apology _not_ accepted."

He allowed a gentle smirk to cross his face. "He told me you'd say that."

"Oh, really?" she snapped, meeting his eyes. "So Clay thinks he's got me all figured out, is that it?"

Raimundo tilted his head. "You think he doesn't?"

She flung her hands out, glaring at him. "Look, maybe you're not getting this, but I-" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "-am not-" Another jab. "-your friend. Stop acting like you know me."

"Girl, any time I think I know something about you, you go and do something totally opposite," he replied, brushing her hand away. "I'd say you're covered."

Side by side, they sat on the bed. He watched her in his peripheral, frowning slightly, and she preoccupied herself picking at the fabric of her pajama pants. Raimundo tipped his head skyward, and a smile lit his face. Stretching exaggeratedly, he yawned, "So, since we're _not_ friends, I guess you wouldn't want me to take you out today?"

Kimiko scoffed. "And what made you think I'd want to go anywhere with you in the first place?"

"I don't know; maybe the fact that I'm not Clay?" he grinned.

She looked at him, combing her fingers through her hair. "That's really all you've got going for you?"

His smile widened. "Well, I'm also funny, handsome, talented-"

"Modest," she droned.

"See, you caught my drift." He rolled his shoulders, flexing.

She shook her head and hid her face in her knees. "Color me not interested."

He peered around her legs, trying to see her expression. "You _sure_ you want to spend the day cooped up in here with nothing to do?" His jocular tone faded. "Like you did yesterday?"

With a glare, she shoved her knees down, just missing his face in the process. "Whatever. That's what I have gadgets for."

Raimundo widened his eyes and his smirk. "Oh, yeah?" He pulled a smartphone from his back pocket and palmed it. "Liiike... this gadget?"

Kimiko's mouth fell open, her eyes darting between the phone and his face. Grinning, he wiggled it at her.

She lunged. He tumbled off the bed in a somersault and bounced on his toes, dangling the phone above her. "Too slow."

Sprawled on the floor, she flipped her hair out of her face, eyes blazing. She sprang upward, and he twitched the device out of reach. "How did you even find it?" she demanded, swinging at him. Her hand came too close, and he tossed the phone into the air. She gasped, but he effortlessly caught it behind his back with his other hand. She stared as he bounced the phone on his palm.

"Told you," he smirked, "circus brat."

She collected herself, fuming. "Thief is more like it."

He laughed, tucking the phone into his pocket. "There's a difference?" His grin disarmed her. "Get dressed and meet me in the driveway."

* * *

><p>Raimundo eyed her as he took a swig from his coffee cup. Sighing, he set it on the table heavily and rested his face on his knuckles. "Would you stop that?"<p>

Kimiko made a fuss of picking at her lunch, but her eyes remained fixed on him. "Stop what?"

"Staring. It's creeping me out." He picked up a napkin from the table and began folding it absentmindedly. "Seriously, all I did was buy you lunch."

"You _stole_ my _phone_," she retorted, leaning over her plate.

"And you'll _get_ it _back_," he echoed. "Later." That grin again. He made a crease in the napkin.

Folding her arms, Kimiko slumped down in the booth. "I hate you," she grumbled.

He laughed. "That's new." Raimundo snapped the napkin a final time and set a paper crane on the center of the table. She cocked a brow but resigned herself to disinterest. Reaching up, he cracked his neck and exhaled. "So, your eye looks good."

Blinking, she touched a finger to her bad eye. The skin was still sore and blackened, the bruise rimmed purple. She winced automatically upon contact and refocused on him. "Are you high?"

He suppressed a smirk. "I mean the swelling's gone down. I can actually see your eye."

She closed her good eye, testing. "I had hardly noticed," she muttered. "I can barely see out of it. Everything looks dark and blurry and ugly."

"That _might_ have something to do with those giant sunglasses you're wearing," Raimundo teased, "not that I blame you."

She tilted them down and peeked at him over the frames. Her eyes glowed bright blue. "Funny. You still look ugly."

He clasped a hand to his chest, but he grinned. "Sarcasm. Cute."

Shaking her head, she swirled a finger around the rim of her glass as Raimundo took a bite of his sandwich. Around them, the diner bustled with activity: a waitress laughed with a boisterous regular; the cook clanked a pan on the stove; a busboy clattered some dishes into the sink. She watched a pair of men in button-down shirts and half-undone ties order coffee, grinning and joking about their work. "You and Clay get along well," she commented.

Raimundo swallowed his mouthful, eyeing her. "Most of the time," he admitted. "We don't always see eye to eye-" He paused, wrapping his fingers around his cup. "But you already knew that."

She blinked at him, then pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Look-"

"Hey, no worries," he interrupted. "When you're being that loud, you have no expectation of privacy."

Kimiko clenched a fist on the table. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

He cocked a brow, the coffee halfway to his lips. "Girl, do you always dig the worst possible meaning out of everything?"

She watched him as he took a long drink, his eyes never leaving hers. She sank back on the chair. "Sorry," she murmured.

He set the cup on the table. "Kim. It's okay." He hesitated, then plucked the crane off the table and twisted it into a line. "Shouldn't've been talking about you like that, anyway."

She looked at him sideways through her sunglasses as he destroyed the crane. "Probably not," she said.

He tossed the crumpled napkin onto his plate. Pulling his wallet from his pocket, he slid out of the booth and muttered, "C'mon. I've got it covered. There's one more place I want to take you."

* * *

><p>Kimiko frowned and pushed her head off its resting place against the passenger window as they pulled up to the back of a worn brick building. "Uh... we aren't lost, are we?"<p>

Raimundo shifted the car into park and unbuckled his seat belt, yanking the keys from the ignition. He tossed them up and caught them again with a jingle. "Listen, if you're gonna be sticking around, there's some people you have to meet."

She stared at him, her hand drifting slowly toward her buckle. "What?"

He rolled his eyes and shut the car door with a klatch. "Chill. It's not my family. It'd be a long trip to Tubarão." He opened her door and motioned. "Come on."

Hesitantly, she exited the car and followed him to the unmarked back door. Raimundo flipped through his key ring, then selected a brass key with a colorful striped sticker and unlocked the door. He swung it open and walked in first, holding the door out behind him. She caught it and shuffled into a hallway, the linoleum and wallpaper yellowed but not dingy. He walked past an open doorway, and she peeked into the empty room to see peeling cabinetry from the '60s, a dented plastic card table, and a mismatched set of folding chairs.

Ahead of her, Raimundo knocked on a door frame, leaning in.

"You're late, Raimundo," a voice rumbled from within.

Eyes widening, she hurried to the Brazilian's side as he retorted, " 'Hey' to you, too, old man." He thumbed over his shoulder. "I brought you a visitor." He looked at her and jerked his head in the door's direction.

Kimiko peeped in. An office stared back at her. It was simply decorated, the pieces made from dark wood and built with clean lines: a few stocked bookcases on the right wall, some simple Chinese prints on the left. From behind the desk, a balding man with eyes the color of rainwater adjusted his thin-rimmed spectacles and tugged his goatee. "I see," he said, studying her.

She stood frozen in the doorway, and Raimundo gave her a gentle nudge into the room. "Relax. He only _looks_ like he might bite."

The man cocked a brow, the exact expression that Raimundo shot her at lunch earlier. "And you can attest to that?" he asked.

Raimundo grinned. "Not truthfully."

Swallowing, Kimiko stepped forward and offered a hand. "Kimiko Tohomiko."

Mr. Fung looked at her arms. She glanced down and spotted a yellowing bruise where her sleeve had ridden up. Her lips tightened into a grim line. His gaze met hers, and he shook her hand firmly. "Zhi Fung." His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Raimundo has spoken well of you."

Kimiko eyed the Brazilian, who avoided her look, massaging his jaw. "Uh-huh," she replied, withdrawing her hand and tugging at her sleeve.

Raimundo explained, "Mr. Fung runs the Xiaolin Youth Center. It's..." He frowned, rolling his hand in the air. "It's kind of like a Park & Rec. for kids with problems."

Mr. Fung tapped some papers into a neat stack on his desk. "As usual, Raimundo oversimplifies." Kimiko snorted at that as the older man clarified, "We provide shelter for children from broken homes. In general, this means after-school programs. In some cases, this means offering a hot meals and a bed." He shuffled the papers. "We also liaise with the local chapter of the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program." His eyes found hers. "Has Raimundo told you about his work here?"

"Not in the slightest," she answered, crossing her arms.

"Oh?" Fung's eyebrows lifted, but he seemed unsurprised. "Well, I suppose I should give you a tour, then."

"Already got it covered," Raimundo interrupted.

She gave him a shove. "I'd love a tour, Mr. Fung," Kimiko said, her voice dulcet.

"Then _I'll _give you one," Raimundo replied, catching her wrist and guiding her to the door. "I'll see you soon, old man."

"Of course," he replied. "I hope to see you again, Miss Tohomiko."

Raimundo shook his head as he steered her out of the office and down the hall. "Don't mind him," he muttered. "He's approaching senility."

"I don't believe that for a second," she retorted as Raimundo unlatched a door and pushed her through.

The looks she received silenced her. A handful of youths stared at them, all activity paused to take in the newcomer. Averting her eyes, she spied a variety of table sports - ping-pong, pool, and air-hockey - as well as a small television set and an ancient game system. A beaten sofa blocked one wall; a series of cabinets and cupboards covered the other.

Behind her, Raimundo shut the door and glanced over his shoulder at them. "Ay, c'mon, guys, you were raised better," he scolded.

A tiny, bald Chinese boy poked his head over the air-hockey table. "Raimundo!" He scrambled off the chair he had been standing on and darted up to them, giving the Brazilian a reproachful look. "You are seventeen and one-quarter minutes late! Explain your most unseemly tardiness!"

The teens shook their heads and returned to their activities as Raimundo rubbed the boy's head, inciting a yelp of protest. "Chill, chrome dome. We had to stop for lunch."

"I will not be 'chilled!' Your lack of punctuality has disrespected both myself and the Youth... Center..." The boy finally processed the 'we,' his eyes shifting to Kimiko. He furrowed his brow at her ripped jeans and mismatched layered shirts. "You are strangely attired," he told her.

Raimundo slapped himself in the face. "Nice first impression, Omi."

Kimiko stifled a snort. "_This_ is Omi?"

The boy stood straighter, beaming. "I see Raimundo has told you about me! What did he say? Good things?" he asked with the excitement of someone certain of the answer to their question.

"I told her that furry creatures make you wet your pants," Raimundo droned, buffing his fingernails against his shirt.

"Ah, yes, a very impressi- WHAT?" the boy shrieked.

Kimiko delivered a sharp elbow to Raimundo's ribs and crouched to Omi's level. "He's lying, Omi. Ignore him." She smiled and held out a hand. "My name's Kimiko."

Omi beamed and accepted her hand, giving her a quick, small shake. "I am Omi Fung!" he announced. "It is mooost wonderful to talk to someone more intelligent than Raimundo!"

The Brazilian clapped a hand to his face as Kimiko laughed. "Omi, I think you and I will get along just fine," she giggled.

"Great," Raimundo groused. "Now they're ganging up on me."

"If you cannot handle the weather, you must get off the pavement!" Omi crowed.

Raimundo rolled his eyes and leaned on the door, folding his arms. "And now you're attacking the English language. Real nice, cheeseball."

Omi stuck his tongue out, aligning himself with Kimiko, who smiled and nudged his arm. "Rai's just a big jerk, isn't he?" she whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh, yes," Omi responded gravely.

"Don't mind me, standing _right here_," Raimundo retorted as the teens in the room snickered.

Omi caught her sleeve, leaning close. "So, Kimiko, how do you know Raimundo?"

Smiling, she explained, "I'm a friend of Clay's."

The boy's face lit up. "Oh! Mooost interesting! Clay is my friend, too!"

"Oh, yeah?" she grinned.

"Yes!" Omi gestured wildly. "He plays games with me when he is not busy with school." He beamed and pointed to himself. "I always win."

Another boy in the room snorted, and a few more kids stifled laughter. Kimiko eyed them as Raimundo quipped, "You mean Clay always _lets_ you win."

Omi glared at him. "Your jealousy is not appreciated, Raimundo."

"So..." Kimiko interrupted, searching for a change of topic. "Do you spend a lot of time here?"

"Oh, yes," the boy replied. "I come here most every day with Mr. Fung."

She furrowed her brow at his choice of words. "Isn't Mr. Fung your dad?"

"Ah-" Omi's face fell. "No."

She blinked, suddenly feeling many pairs of eyes on her. "Um..."

"Hey, Omi, you gotten any better at chess or what?" Raimundo interjected, pushing off the door frame and laying a hand on Kimiko's shoulder.

Kimiko rose uncertainly, guided by Raimundo, as Omi swiveled towards the Brazilian, his round face indignant. "I will have you know that I am excellent at chess! The very best!" he insisted.

Raimundo grinned. "Yeah? Then what happened the last time we played? And the time before that?"

Flushing, Omi glanced around the room. "I..." The teens looked on in amusement, and Omi leveled a finger at Raimundo. "I have simply been allowing you to win!"

"Prove it."

Omi's finger drooped. "Pardon me?" he asked, his voice high-pitched.

Raimundo crouched, tweaking Omi's nose. "I challenge you to a chess match, right here, right now. If I win, you have to help me with my chores around here for a week."

Omi puffed out his chest in an imitation of Clay. "And if I win, you have to..." He paused, frowning, then bellowed, "You have to buy me a bicycle!"

"Yeah, I don't think so," Raimundo snorted, digging a beaten chess set out of a cupboard.

"You have to say that I am better than you at everything!"

Raimundo tapped his knuckles on the boy's head. "Stick with the bike."

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you did that."<p>

Raimundo twisted the key in the ignition, and the engine sputtered and ground to life. "Did what?"

Kimiko squinted at him in the dimming light, then sighed and removed her sunglasses, tucking them into the collar of her shirt. She rubbed her eye. "Humiliated a ten-year-old at chess."

He twisted around and peered over his shoulder as he backed out of the youth center's parking lot. "It's not my fault Omi sucks at it."

"He's _ten_," Kimiko retorted, resting heavily on the passenger door.

Raimundo turned onto the street and pressed on the gas pedal. "There are ten-year-olds that play chess."

She crossed her arms. "On the fifth game, you shut him out in four turns."

"Two turns," he corrected. "You don't count your opponent's moves."

"He's _ten_, Raimundo."

"So he's old enough to know when he should stop demanding a rematch." The Brazilian shifted gears to make a turn. "Or at least he should be."

Kimiko eyed him, sinking back in her seat. "Aren't you supposed to be his Big Brother?"

Raimundo grinned as he stepped on the gas pedal and shot down the street. "I don't sound like one?"

She flapped a hand at him, dismissing his comment. "I mean that you're supposed to be a role model. A positive adult influence."

The light ahead of them turned red, and Raimundo eased the car to a stop. He flicked on his turn signal. "He didn't want a role model."

She stared at him as the light turned green, reflecting off his eyes. The car rounded the corner.

"Besides," he said, focusing on the road, "if I remember it right, I was saving _you_ from embarrassment."

Her face reddened, and she forced her gaze to the dashboard. "He said his name was Omi Fung! What was I supposed to think?"

"Look, it happens with everybody," Raimundo reassured her, shifting gears again. "Omi doesn't have a last name, so he likes to use Mr. Fung's. Then he gets depressed when someone asks about his 'dad'." The car turned onto Clay's street, and he peeked at her. "Kimiko, don't worry about it. You're his new favorite person."

Her eyes flickered to him. "What? We've just met."

Raimundo smirked. "You gave him three minutes of undivided attention at my expense. He's completely in love with you." He focused on the road, pulling up to Clay's semi-detached, and refused to look at her as he murmured, "I knew he would be."

Kimiko only stared as the Brazilian shifted the car into park and unbuckled his seatbelt. He grinned at her. "Maybe next time you'll take less convincing to go out."

Her eyes widened, and she lurched into his seat as he opened the driver's side door. "Wait a minute," she interjected. "You owe me a phone."

He paused, one foot out of the car. "Actually, it's still wherever you keep it hidden."

She blinked at him. "What?"

Raimundo yanked the hostage phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. It immediately displayed a menu of apps that she failed to recognize, all of them labeled in Portuguese. Her eyes traced the edges of the case, which was just a shade too light, before running up his arm and to his grinning face. "C'mon, girl, you didn't think you were the only one with a smartphone?"

She punched him in the arm. With a yelp, he jumped out and slammed the door behind him, racing up the driveway. "I hate you!" she shouted, tumbling out of the car after him, and he only laughed and dashed into the house.

* * *

><p><em>And so Omi and Master (Mr.) Fung join the cast! I had a lot of fun writing them. I feel like the wheels of the plot are starting to turn now that they've arrived.<em>

_I chose to make Omi so much younger (or rather, to leave him his normal age) because there is no way to justify his egotism in an adult. It's an explicit result of his youth that he sees himself as the center of the entire universe, and it is only tolerable as such. An adult with Omi's ego would simply be out of touch with reality, and Omi without his ego would not be Omi. So, he remains a child in this universe._

_This update was slightly delayed, as stated above, by a bad work week, but also by a one-shot comedy break called "The Shackles of Sheba," which you should totally find on my profile and read. Hopefully, the next update will be more timely. Check back in a week or so!_

_Let me know what you think, and as always, thanks for reading._


	5. Day Five

_Lots of meaty description in this chapter, which makes me happy. The last one felt a little sparse to me. It's also one long scene, so... enjoy._

* * *

><p>Kimiko slid the last plate onto the table and inspected her work. First, there were the placemats, soft, hand-woven, sprightly green things that had been hidden in the darkest recesses of the lowest cabinet drawer. A set of square white dishes rested delicately on the pads. Stylized, asymmetrical bamboo shoots were painted in brown on each plate, so she had placed a small glass with an arrangement of young green bamboo in the center of the table. Each setting had a fork on the left, a knife on the right with the blade inward, and a glass and a coffee cup at the upper right in etiquette-dictated form. And atop each plate was a crisp cloth napkin meticulously folded into the shape of a crane.<p>

With a smile, Kimiko crumpled the origami directions she had printed off the Internet and tossed them into the trash can. The buzzer on the waffle maker beeped as if on cue, and she flicked off the timer and flipped the test waffle onto a serving plate. She poked it and immediately jerked back. Sucking on her burned fingertip, she adjusted the dial on the waffle maker before pouring more batter in and setting the timer. She touched the waffle again. It was already cooling, and she snapped off a piece and nibbled it.

Above her, she heard footsteps in the hall. Her eyes widening, she stuffed the waffle into her mouth and quickly placed the butter tray, a china creamer filled with maple syrup, and a can of whipped cream on the table. She checked the coffee maker, which sputtered as she approached, and with a sigh she let it be. Grabbing the orange juice from the fridge, she swiftly poured it into the glasses and swallowed the remains of her waffle just as Clay thumped down the stairs and into the foyer.

He rubbed his eyes, yawning and placing his hat on his head, and stopped at the doorway. He stared at the table setting, then at her. She fidgeted. The buzzer beeped.

"Thought I smelled waffles," he said.

She twiddled her thumbs. "Yeah. Um. I thought I kinda owed you breakfast."

A slow smile tugged at his mouth, and he ruffled her hair as he seated himself at the table. "Apology accepted, little lady."

She beamed at him and served him the waffle, immediately pouring another into the machine. "The coffee'll be ready in a minute, I think."

"Don't worry about it," Clay replied, tying his napkin around his neck. "Rai's the one addicted to it around here." His eyes twinkled. "Speakin' of, he told me y'all hung out yesterday."

Kimiko rolled her eyes, leaning against the counter. "The jerk tricked me. I thought he had my phone."

Clay snorted through a bite of his waffle. "So why didn't you just maul him when he turned his back like you used to?" He wiped his mouth and grinned. "You had fun."

Relenting, she pulled another waffle from the machine and tossed it at him. "He bought me lunch, and then he took me to the Youth Center and showed off by destroying his 'Little Brother' at chess. That's all."

Clay laughed. "Aw, don't be too hard on Rai."

"He gets his kicks tormenting a ten-year-old, Clay!" she protested, setting the timer.

With a shrug, Clay inhaled another bite of food. "He didn't want it that way," he replied. "That's just how it is with them."

Soft footsteps sounded at the landing, and they both looked up as Raimundo strolled into the kitchen. He blinked at the table, then grinned at Kimiko. "Cranes?"

She pursed her lips and pointed at a chair. "Sit down and shut up if you want breakfast."

Raising his hands in surrender, he sidled into a chair and held out his plate. She slapped a waffle on it, then grabbed the coffee pot and poured some into each cup. Satisfied, she returned the pot to its place and bustled to the waffle maker to pour more batter.

"You gonna sit and eat with us, girl?" Raimundo asked, leaning back to look at her.

She shrugged. "I'll get to it. You guys go ahead."

Raimundo frowned, but Clay interrupted his thoughts: "So what're your plans for today, Rai?"

Accepting the change in topic, the Brazilian cut a piece of waffle with his fork and sprayed some whipped cream onto it. "I got called in again, so I'll be busy with that."

Clay beamed, his cheeks puffed out with food, and swallowed. "That's great!"

"I guess," Raimundo replied, twirling his fork. "It's cutting into my other work."

Kimiko dropped another waffle on Clay's plate. "So are you guys ever going to tell me about Raimundo's mysterious jobs?"

Clay grinned as he upended the syrup over his plate. "You haven't told her anything?"

"I told her I was a line cook," Raimundo retorted.

"But that's the worst one!" Clay laughed.

"But it keeps her expectations low!" Raimundo protested.

Clay snorted and jammed another hunk of waffle into his mouth. "Well, far be it for me to let the little lady know you have _reason_ to be so cocky all the time."

Kimiko clasped her hands around his shoulders, leaning close. "Clay," she wheedled, "I _really_ want to know..."

"Don't you dare, cowboy," Raimundo growled, leveling a fork at Clay's nose.

"I wouldn't dream of it, brother," Clay grinned.

Pouting, Kimiko set a waffle on her own plate and sat down. Raimundo gently tapped his knuckles to her arm. "Maybe when you know me better," he said.

"This from the guy who throws expensive gift cards at people he just met," she grumbled.

Clay eyed her at that. " 'Expensive?' How much did he put on it?"

She paused, her knife halfway through her waffle. "Seventy-five dollars! He didn't tell you?"

"What's wrong with seventy-five?" Raimundo asked, looking offended. "Seventy-five dollars can't buy, like, anything at Old Navy."

"You don't even know me!" Kimiko exclaimed as if that explained everything.

"And whose fault is that?" he retorted.

He grabbed his coffee and drank it sullenly as Clay and Kimiko stared at him. The cowboy tugged his napkin from his neck, his plate finally emptied for the last time. "So..." he drawled, scratching at his ear. "If you got called in, shouldn't you be heading out, partner?"

Raimundo drained his coffee cup and set it back on its dish with a delicate clink. "Probably." With a sigh, he slid his chair back, grabbing his keys off the counter and tucking them into his pocket. He eased around the table and paused in the doorway, his fingers on the frame. "Look, Kimiko..." He raked his hand through his hair, and words spilled out in a rush: "This is probably a dumb time to bring it up now, but Omi and his friend and I do this basketball thing every Saturday, and Clay can't make it anymore because of his schoolwork, and I was kinda hoping-"

She held up a hand to silence him. "I'd love to." The hand changed to a warning finger. "On the condition that you tell me exactly what the hell you do."

A slow smile spread across Clay's face as Raimundo smirked at her. "No promises."

They watched him stroll down the hall and out the door, and Clay waited until he heard the engine gun before he spoke. "Well, ain't you two cuter than a baby's bottom."

"Shut up, cowboy," she retorted, her cheeks warming.

Clay snorted, collecting the plates and placing them in the washer. "Never heard him stumble over so many words in my life."

Standing, Kimiko stretched and shut off the waffle maker. "Maybe I just bring that out in people."

"You just might," he agreed, starting the washer. "Hey, listen-" He leaned on the counter, towering over her on the opposite side. "Don't get too gun shy over the gift card thing, alright? He does things like that."

She crossed her arms. "He likes to show off, you mean."

"He likes to help people," Clay corrected. "You'll see for yourself if you keep hangin' out with him. Anyway, I've gotta get to school-" He paused, his brow furrowing. "You sure you'll be alright by your lonesome?"

She sighed and shoved his textbooks at him. "I'll be _fine_, Clay. I get wi-fi."

He collected the books under his arm before walking around the counter to press a brotherly kiss to her forehead. "Call me if you need anythin'."

"You know I will," she replied, punching his arm.

With a soft smile, he disappeared down the hall and out the front door. Kimiko heard the car start and pull out of the driveway.

Rubbing her neck, she looked at the breakfast nook, clear of all but the placemats, the bamboo, and one napkin crane sitting in front of Raimundo's seat. Shaking her head, she plucked it off the table and shook it out, dropping it on the counter. She paused, her fingers brushing over Raimundo's cell phone. She sighed, but a smile wound its way across her face. "Idiot."

Leaving it be, she crossed to the living room and flopped on the sofa. With a catlike stretch, she grabbed her laptop off the coffee table and flipped it open. A game of Hyperpype was paused on the screen. Turning on some J-pop, she tapped 'Return to Game' and quickly became absorbed in the puzzles.

The doorbell rang. Kimiko looked up from her laptop, frowning at the hallway. She glanced to the kitchen and sighed, her eyes landing on Raimundo's phone, still sitting on the counter. Stretching, she stood and scooped the device into her hand before strolling toward the front door.

The doorbell jangled, once, twice. Kimiko rolled her eyes as she twisted the lock. "Relax, Rai, your phone's right-"

She cut herself off, her fingers gripping the door. Makoto smiled at her, his eyes dark. His bad arm shifted inside the sling, and he clenched his other hand, cracking the knuckles. "Expecting someone else?" he asked.

Kimiko grabbed the door and swung it forward. He slammed his good shoulder into it. Gritting her teeth, she threw her weight against the door. With a heave, he shoved it back and knocked her to the floor. She cringed, clutching her side, as he stepped in and kicked the door shut behind him. The latch clicked.

"Nice place Clay's got here," he commented, rolling his wrist at his side. "Very... effeminate."

With a muffled groan, she staggered to her feet and supported herself against the wall of the foyer. "What are you _doing_ here?" she demanded.

Makoto shrugged. "Just wondered how you were doing. Thought I'd drop by."

"I'm _fine_, thanks," she spat. "Now get out."

He chuckled, wiping his mouth on his good hand. "Yeah, I don't think so." He seized her forearm and dragged her off the wall. She stomped on his shoe. With a growl, he twisted her arm around at the elbow. Her bones screamed in protest. She gasped, and her foot slipped off his. Yanking on her twisted arm as a warning, he pulled her down the hall and threw her into one of the kitchen chairs. "I just want to talk," he enunciated, looming above her.

"So talk," Kimiko snarled, rubbing her fresh bruises.

Ignoring her, he dragged a chair across the tile and draped himself over its back, their eyes level. "You move quick," he commented.

She glared at him, blue eyes flashing. "What are you talking about?"

Makoto knuckled the seat of his chair. "I saw you around with prettyboy yesterday." He leaned towards her. "Then today I spot him leaving here, looking pretty happy with himself."

"He's Clay's _roommate_," she hissed, moving to rise. He clapped a hand to her shoulder and forced her down.

" 'Clay's roommate' is taking awful good care of you," he sneered, tightening his fingers around her collarbone.

Kimiko slapped his hand away. "I take care of myself."

Makoto snorted and leaned back. "That'd be a first."

"What do you know?" she retorted, giving his chair a kick.

His hand shot out, grabbing her neck. "You've never done a damn thing without someone else's help," he spat as she choked, "and you know it."

Gasping, she clenched a fist and slammed it into his jaw. He jerked back. She threw herself forward, and his chair toppled. With a snarl, he kicked it away, grabbing her ankles. She collapsed, and he pinned her with his knees.

"Look at you!" he snapped, pressing his arm to her throat. "Helpless. Weak."

"Look at you," she managed between gulps of air. "Compensating."

Makoto slapped her. His fingers grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look at him. "You're pathetic," he hissed. "You can't do anything without a man to protect you." She twisted beneath him, and he tightened his grip. "Kimiko, the fragile little flower."

"You're full of shit," she spat.

"Liar," Makoto snarled, pressing his knee into her stomach. "They all know it, too. Your father, the cowboy, _and_ your new little boyfriend-" Her eyes blazed, and his mouth twisted into a smirk. "Oh, I've seen the way he looks at you, like you're one of those kids he works with - another pathetic, broken thing to pity."

She smashed her forehead into his. With a howl, he tipped off-balance, and she shoved his weight off of her and rolled away. Stumbling to her feet, she broke for the door. He lurched after her and slammed her against the wall.

"Face it, Kimiko!" he snapped. "Daddy, Clay, Raimundo - you need _someone_ to take care of you." She tried to look away, and he grabbed her face and twisted it back. "That was why you dated me, wasn't it? Because when you'd burned all your other bridges, you realized you couldn't do a _fucking_ thing on your own!"

She spit on him, and rather than wipe it off he forced his mouth to hers, his thumb pressing against her cheekbone, his fingers digging into her scalp. She punched his chest, and he bit her lip, drawing blood. She winced, and he pulled back, his eyes dark. "You need me."

"I don't want shit from you," she hissed.

"No, you want your so-called friends' pity," he sneered. "Too bad they'll never see you as an equal, huh? You'll always be the load they have to drag behind them - the damsel in distress."

Her lips parted just as the tires screeched outside, as the engine rumbled and cut out in the driveway. As one, their eyes flickered toward the cell phone, discarded on the floor of the hallway in the scuffle. A car door shut.

Makoto tossed her aside and strode for the back door. He unlatched it with his good hand and paused in the open doorway to glare at her. "This conversation isn't over."

She said nothing, clinging to the wall for strength, as he stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

From the front, the latch clicked, and soft footsteps echoed from the foyer. "Kimiko?" Raimundo called. "Have you seen my..." He trailed off, his footfalls stopping in the hallway. "Huh." She heard his clothes shift as he crouched, picking up the phone. "Kimiko?" he called again, confusion tingeing his voice.

She took a deep breath, pushing off the wall. "In here."

He walked into the kitchen, his brow furrowed as he searched for her, looking from the empty living room to the forgotten laptop on the table until, finally, he reached the kitchen. He stared at her, green eyes clouding. "You're bleeding."

Kimiko touched her lip, and her fingers came away red. She looked at them for a moment. "I'm fine," she said.

She looked up and started. Raimundo stood mere inches away, studying her. Wordlessly, he caught her chin with a curved finger and gently tilted her face up, exposing the finger marks that were darkening on her neck.

A sudden fury filled her, and she raised her hand and slapped him. He stared at her, his eyes wide, his mouth open. She glared, her palm twinging. "Don't. Touch me."

"Kim-"

Her eyes blazed at him. "I said, 'Back off'."

He retracted his hand, unable to look away. "What-"

"Get out."

His eyes narrowed. "No way."

"Get out!" she screamed, slamming a fist into the wall. A decorative plate swung off its nail and shattered on the ground.

Raimundo stared her down then, slowly, he backed away, never taking his eyes off her. She sucked in a ragged breath as he turned the corner, as she heard the latch click and the door shut. Panting, she sank to the floor, her back against the wall, and cradled her head in her hands.

* * *

><p><em>And this is where the story starts tipping the T rating. PG-13 films are allowed one f-bomb, so I think I'll leave it be for now.<em>

_As I was reading other Hurt/Comfort fics, I realized that it was the "hurt" aspect where they usually fell down the most. The problem lay in how arbitrary the hurt was: there was often no real consideration of what would actually break Kimiko. That, I realized, was the key to a successful Hurt/Comfort fic: understanding what it takes to utterly destroy a character's self-confidence. Hopefully, I've started to scratch at that._

_Those of you who thought the "hurt" happened prior to the first chapter, when Kimiko showed up with the bruises in the police station: it's only just begun._

_Let me know what you think and, as always, thanks for reading._


	6. Day Six

_This chapter. My god, this chapter did not want to be written. It has no excuse for its lateness beyond my own perfectionism; I must've rewritten it five times. I can't say I'm sorry enough, but I will try my damnedest to be quicker on the next one. That said:_

* * *

><p>Kimiko stared at herself in her mirror, a cheap plastic floor-length thing from Target's college dorm section. She had bought it and propped it against her wall after noticing that Clay had not provided one for her room. Typically, she evaluated her outfits in it. Today, she shivered before it naked, her arms wrapped around her chest to afford some modesty.<p>

Her reflection stared back at her, blue eyes flickering in a porcelain face. It trembled, its teeth chattering with cold. Its hands rubbed the gooseflesh and bruises on its arms. Strings of black hair fell in its face, shadowing a swollen, blackened eye. It pushed out a fat, split lip in a pout. Tightening one arm around its breasts, it lifted the other, wrist flicking, and touched the darkening fingerprints on its jaw and neck and collar.

A shudder wracked her body. The reflection danced in the warped mirror, and she hugged herself, shaking in the chill. Her thighs rubbed together, her toes turned inwards. She massaged her sore arms, forcing herself to stare down those flame-blue eyes, to reconcile herself with her fragility.

A knock sounded. Kimiko jerked her head around, frozen in front of the mirror. "I'm not decent."

"I just wanna talk to you real quick," Clay responded, his voice muffled by the door.

Her cheeks burned. "Damn it, Clay, I don't want to hear about it today."

There was silence on the other side of the door. "Hear about what?"

"_Yesterday_," she retorted, tightening her arms around her chest.

"What, the plate?" he asked. "Shucks, Kim, it's just a plate."

She blinked at the door. "The plate?"

"I mean, you could've cleaned it up some, but I didn't mind that much. Sharp pottery ain't exactly a barrel of laughs."

She narrowed her eyes at the door now. "Raimundo didn't talk to you?"

"Not much. He called me yesterday to say he was stayin' with Mr. Fung and Omi." She heard movement outside her door. "You guys have a fight?"

She stared, silent for too long. "No. I just figured he'd make a bigger deal about the plate."

"Aw, Kimiko, it ain't that bad. It's not like I haven't got boxes of the things in the attic."

Slapping at her cheeks to fight the color, Kimiko pulled a pair of panties on and threw a hoodie over her head. She peeked at herself in the mirror, then raked her fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her face, and opened the door. Clay peered at her. "You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she answered. "What did you want to talk about?"

He shrugged. "Just wanted to know if you needed directions."

She frowned at him, tilting her head. "Directions?"

Clay adjusted his hat. "To basketball?"

Her brow furrowed, but soon she blinked at him. "Oh. _Today_ is Saturday."

"Mm-hmm." Clay scratched his neck. "I thought Rai would've driven you, but-" He paused, considering her. "You _are_ going, right?"

Kimiko rubbed her jaw. "You know what? Give me a minute to get dressed. I'll be right down."

* * *

><p>She pulled into the parking lot of the town Parks and Recreation not much later, Clay's handwritten directions on the seat beside her. Yanking her key from the ignition, Kimiko unbuckled her seatbelt and exited the car, her eyes scanning for the outdoor courts. An asphalt path curved around the building, and she trotted across the parking lot and along the walk. She raised her hand against the glare of the midafternoon light, squinting without her sunglasses.<p>

She rounded the corner, and a number of paved-ground courts stretched out before her. Her eyes passed over the occupied tennis courts to the two basketball courts, all fenced in with green chain-link. A pair of youth teams in bright jerseys jostled in the first, so she jogged to the more distant court.

As she neared the gate, she heard a small voice bellow, "Prepare for a humiliating defeat!"

A black teen dribbled the basketball between his legs before spinning it on his finger. He grinned at Omi, eyes sparkling. "Omi, dawg, the only one gettin' humiliated around here is you."

From the sidelines, Raimundo crossed his arms and sighed, "Guys, you're just playing Horse."

"A game in which I _will_ be victorious!" Omi exclaimed, glaring at his 'brother'. "Jermaine does not stand a chance against my angry skills!"

Kimiko felt a smile wind across her face as Jermaine handed the smaller boy the ball. "Right," the teen drawled, directing a weary look at Raimundo. "You gonna correct him...?"

Raimundo shrugged just as Kimiko unlatched the gate and let herself in. In unison, the three of them turned toward her, and she gave them a shy wave as they stared. She felt Raimundo's eyes linger on her exposed, unblemished neck and shoulders, and she looked at the boys as she said, "Hey. Am I late?"

Jermaine whistled. "Not on my watch."

Raimundo glared at the teen as Omi dropped the ball and raced toward Kimiko, latching onto her knees. He beamed up at her. "Kimiko! Have you come to witness my basketball prowess?" He gasped before she could answer, peering at her face. "Kimiko!" he repeated. "What has happened to you?"

"Hm?" She touched her bruised face self-consciously, her gaze flickering skyward before refocusing on the small boy. "Nothing major. Some jerk tried to steal my purse on the way here, would you believe it?"

Omi leaped away from her, holding up tiny fists. "We must bring this villain to justice!"

"Relax, Omi," she laughed. "I showed him. But not before he got me right here." She tapped her cheek and winked. "Anyway, I promised Raimundo I'd even out your teams for basketball." Crouching, she tugged at his shirtsleeves. "But aren't you a little overdressed?"

"These are not formal clothes!" he protested, smoothing down his polo. "Perhaps _you_ are dressed strangely!"

"What, this?" Kimiko gave a twirl on one foot, showing off her tight athletic shorts and form-fitting tank top. She finished her turn and caught Raimundo studying her, his brow furrowed, his eyes cloudy. Shaking her head, she refocused on the Chinese boy. "This is just standard sportswear."

With a shrug, Omi caught her hand and tugged her onto the court towards the others. "Jermaine, this is my good friend, Kimiko!" he announced. "She watched me defeat Raimundo in a game of chess."

"Uh-huh," Jermaine smirked, extending a fist. She tapped his knuckles with her own as he added, "Always good to meet another 'friend' of Omi's-" He paused and grinned at her. "-especially a fine lady like yourself."

Kimiko allowed him a coy smile but brushed past him to Raimundo. "Hey," she said.

"Hey," he replied, his fists jammed in his pockets. "Wasn't expecting you to show."

"Please," she retorted, pushing on his chest lightly. "Like I could pass up the opportunity to kick your butt."

His usual grin surfaced. "Oh, my mistake." His smile mellowed, and he touched her shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

She swallowed, gently sliding his hand off her skin. His fingertips came away powdery white, and he brushed the makeup off on his shirt. She felt her cheeks warm. "Yeah, well," she said, her voice hard, "I figured I owed you for not telling Clay."

He hesitated mid-breath, his mouth tightening. His eyes flickered to her black one. "Yeah, well," he murmured, looking away and tucking his hands into his pockets, "I figured I piss you off enough already." He hunched his shoulders. She looked at him, and he gave a tiny shrug.

Kimiko frowned and caught his sleeve. "Are you okay?"

Raimundo rolled his shoulder, jostling her hand free. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Look, you- it's just- I-" Forcing out a breath, he flipped a hand in her direction and began to turn away. "-you don't owe me jack, okay? Go home if you want to go home. Do whatever you feel like. It's not my business."

She gaped at his back as he walked away, then gritted her teeth and punched his arm. He whirled around, clutching his newly bruised bicep. "The _hell_, girl?"

"Stop doing that!" she hissed.

"Doing what?" he demanded.

With a glare, she stabbed a finger into his chest. "Look, jerk, I _will_ play basketball against you today, and I will _kick your ass, _and _no one_ is going to stop me." She jabbed him again. "Not _him_. _Not_ Clay. And _not you_."

He stared at her for a moment. Finally, he scowled, pinned on his customary smirk, and backed towards the boys. "Fine. We gonna play basketball or what?" he announced, loud enough for them to hear.

"Yes! I have yet to defeat Jermaine in Horse!" Omi grabbed the ball and bounced it a few times, beaming. "Perhaps Kimiko could play, too?"

"I've got a better idea, Omi," Kimiko asserted, hands on her hips. "Two on two. You and me versus Jermaine and Raimundo."

Jermaine laughed, elbowing the Brazilian. "Yo, I like those odds."

"Indeed," Omi mused. "With a girl on my team, it should be almost fair."

Raimundo rolled his eyes. "Let's make it quick, yeah? First to ten points wins."

Kimiko stuck her tongue out. "Trying to minimize the blow to your reputation, Rai?" she taunted.

"More like, 'trying to make this quick and painless for you'," he retorted.

Kimiko collected the ball from the boy and rolled it down her arms. She popped it off the back of her hand and caught it in one palm. "What do you say, boys?"

Raimundo smirked. "I say, bring it."

Kimiko flung the ball into the air. Jermaine leaped over Omi for it and broke into a run down the court, the ball a blur between his hand and the pavement. He sprang into the air and dunked the ball. Grinning, he dropped from the hoop and passed the ball to Kimiko. "You _do_ know what you just got yourself into, right?" he asked, cracking his knuckles.

Pursing her lips, she checked the ball and dribbled towards the hoop. Raimundo skidded in front of her. She faked to the left and passed to the right, and Omi caught the ball and shot it for an effortless two points. "Ha!" he shouted. "In your head!"

" 'Face'," Raimundo corrected, collecting the ball and checking it with Kimiko. He raced her to the other side of the court and bounced on his toes at the free throw line, still dribbling. With a quick spin, he feinted around her and dashed toward the hoop to score a lay-up.

"Show-off," she dismissed as he bounced the ball to Omi.

"Girl, you wouldn't know showing off if it bit you," he teased.

Omi checked the ball with Jermaine and sprinted toward the hoop. With a swing of his hand, Jermaine swiped the ball and dribbled back down the court, passing to Raimundo, who flung the ball in the appropriate direction without looking. It swished through the net.

"Yeah, boy!" Jermaine cheered.

Kimiko glared at Raimundo, and he grinned and made an exaggerated chomping motion. Grabbing the ball, he tossed it at her, and she caught it with a slap against her palms. She evaluated him for a moment.

She checked the ball and immediately passed it to Omi. He darted between his opponents' legs but found himself cornered by Jermaine near the end of the court. The boy attempted to pass, but Raimundo intercepted the ball and jogged it to the free throw line. Just as he made a toss, Kimiko slapped the ball out of the air and dribbled back down the court. With a hop, she shot a perfect three-pointer. "Yes!" she grinned.

Beaming, she turned around to gloat, but found Raimundo still standing by the free throw line, watching her. She froze. He met her eyes, and his cheeks pinked as he looked away, rubbing his neck. With a scowl, she pushed her hair behind her ear before turning back to the boys.

Eyeing her, Jermaine checked the ball with Omi and raced down the court. Kimiko threw herself towards him. Startled, he faltered, and she stole the ball. She hurtled down the court and made a sloppy shot that bounced off the rim. With a growl, she raced Raimundo towards the hoop and jumped, snatching the ball out of the air before he could close the gap. She twisted to make a bounce pass to Omi, who shot over Jermaine's head for a clear two-pointer.

Shaking his head, Raimundo collected the ball and checked it with Kimiko. Immediately, she lunged towards him, making a swipe. He passed the ball to Jermaine. "Watch me close, Omi!" the teen teased, dribbling between his legs for show.

"Jermaine!" the boy fumed. "Quit your clodding around!"

" 'Clowning'," Raimundo called.

"That, too!" Omi leaped at the ball, and Jermaine bounced it under his leg into his opposite hand before passing it to Raimundo. Kimiko intercepted the ball and sprinted towards her hoop to make a perfect lay-up. She caught the ball as her feet hit the pavement and pivoted, smirking at them.

Raimundo returned the expression. "Now who's showing off?"

She snapped the ball at him, and it thwacked hard against his raised palms. "Shut up and play."

Grinning, the Brazilian bounced the ball between his hands before checking it with her. She returned the ball, and he sprinted down the court, her hair whipping as he breezed past her. Kimiko turned in time to see him dunk the ball. He swung from the hoop, performed a stylish backflip, and landed on his feet with a smirk. She glared at him.

"Raimundo!" Omi fumed, his face cherry red. "Nobody is impressed by your foolish carnival tricks! Hose down your planes!"

Jermaine picked up the ball, shaking his head. "I hope you mean, 'Cool your jets,' dog."

He tossed the ball to the boy, who winked at Kimiko before checking the ball. In a burst of speed, Omi skidded underneath the legs of his competition and shot at the hoop. It bounced off the backboard, and Raimundo stole the ball and raced back to center court. Kimiko shoved herself between his chest and the ball. He stumbled, his eyes wide, and she grabbed the ball and dribbled back toward her hoop. Just as she lined up her shot, Jermaine smacked the ball out of her hands.

"Hey!" she snapped, but the teen only laughed and weaved down the court for a lay-up. The ball hit the rim and bounced back into play. Omi snatched it and darted back towards Kimiko. Raimundo skidded to block him, and the boy passed to Kimiko, who shot the ball from the free throw line for the winning point.

"Aw, man!" Jermaine groaned as Omi gasped, clapping his hands together.

With a squeal, Kimiko spun around and beamed at Raimundo. "Yes! How do you like _that_, jerk-face?"

He rubbed his chest. "Sorry, what?" he deadpanned. "I'm a little busy trying to figure out which ribs you bruised."

Her smile refused to fade. "I'd say 'I'm sorry,' but I'm _so_ not." She crouched and held up a hand. "High-five, Omi. That was awesome."

The tiny boy slapped her hand, smiling. "Indeed! You have, as Jermaine says, 'got serious game'."

"For real," the teen agreed, offering a grin. "You ever been on a team?"

Kimiko shook her head. "I was a softball girl."

"Yeah, I could tell," Raimundo retorted as he massaged his shoulder. "The basemen must've cringed whenever you walked up to bat."

She punched his arm, still beaming. "Shut up. Wimp."

"Haha!" Omi exclaimed. "Raimundo has been called a 'wimp' by a _girl_!"

Kimiko eyed the laughing child. "Should I be offended?"

"Probably," Raimundo commented. He clasped her arm, brushing his thumb over her shoulder, and let go just as quickly. "Alright, dudes," he sighed. "The old man probably wanted you back a half hour ago." Green eyes flicked to her. "See you at dinner, tough girl?"

Kimiko blinked, then smiled. "Sure." A grin split her face. "Wait until Clay hears about this."

"_Ai, juro por Deus_..." He rubbed his temple, but he tapped her arm with his knuckles and collected the boys. "C'mon."

Omi flailed his free arm as Raimundo dragged him by a wrist. "Good-bye, Kimiko!"

"Later, girl," Jermaine called as he tailed them to the parking lot.

Grinning, Kimiko collected the ball and shot a perfect free throw. It bounced back into her hands, and she set it on the pavement beside the hoop. Still smiling, she looked up.

A man stood outside the fence. Her expression faltered as he shifted his arm in its sling.

She stayed there, staring, until she heard Raimundo's car rumble and recede into the distance. Then she turned and bolted for the parking lot.

* * *

><p><em>First, thank you all so much. Your reviews have been so encouraging and heartwarming. Paragraphs, <em>para-freakin'-graphs_, you guys have written me. It's amazing. Thanks._

_Back to business: I hate sports. It's a real challenge to make so much dull, repetitious action interesting. Still, I needed to show the escalating competition between Kim and Rai. It had to be clear that Kim was trying to prove her mettle, that she became more desperate with each point Rai scored. I think I achieved that, but I'll admit I'm not totally satisfied with the end product._

_Side note: The softball thing is a personal bias. Every girl I know that played softball is an aggressive Type A, the kind of person who would slide-tackle a baseman into the dirt if it meant reaching the plate. Thus, Kimiko plays softball._

_My summer job has ended, so the next chapter should come quicker (yay!)._

_Let me know what you think and, as always, thanks for reading._


	7. Day Seven

_So, I unexpectedly became _more_ busy after work ended as I "got volunteered" for a number of Girl Scout projects. But here it is:_

* * *

><p>Kimiko shivered, rubbing her bare arms. She stared at her reflection, her toes curling into the carpet. Turning her feet inwards, she pressed her thighs together, tightened her arms around her chest, bowed her head towards the mirror. The glass dwarfed her reflection. Her hands squeezed her purpling shoulders, and she bit her broken lip to trap the wince inside her mouth.<p>

Three quick knocks. Kimiko's eyes did not drift from the mirror. "I'm not decent."

The knob turned, and she could only gape over her shoulder as the door opened. Raimundo yelped and shut it quickly. "You're naked!" he exclaimed from the hallway.

Her face heated up, and she tightened her arms around her body. "I told you that!"

"I didn't _believe_ you!" he protested.

Pressing a hand to her face, she left the mirror and crossed to her armoire. "_God_, Raimundo..."

He muttered something in his native tongue outside the door. With a few curses under her breath, Kimiko yanked on a pair of underwear and a flimsy tank top. She peeked at herself in the mirror, her eyes lingering on her neck. Her fingers drifted toward her sweatshirt, but she pulled them away, running them through her hair. She heard the floor creak outside her door.

"Is it safe to come in now?" Raimundo asked, his voice cracking just a little. She folded her arms across her chest.

"I guess."

The latch clicked, and the door eased open slowly. His cheeks were pink, and he hovered in the hallway, unable to look at her. She stared at him, waiting, her arms crossed, her toes turned inward. He cleared his throat and forced his gaze upward, locking his eyes on her face. His fingers tightened on the door frame. "So," he said, his voice perfectly even. "You doing anything today?"

Kimiko tilted a brow, her cheeks still warm. "What's it to you?"

Releasing his grip, he leaned against the door frame and pushed his hands into his pockets. "Just wondering."

Eyeing him, she enunciated slowly, "I don't know. I hadn't really thought about any plans for today." She crinkled her nose. "Why?"

Raimundo raised his hands in surrender. "Just thought I'd ask."

With a frown, she cocked a hip. "And what are _your_ plans, o curious one?"

"Nothing major," he replied, giving a roll of his shoulders. "Work today." He snapped his fingers. "Right, _that's_ why I was here." With a grin, he offered a hand. "Let me introduce myself: Raimundo Pedrosa, Brazilian circus brat turned line cook, waiter, ex-personal trainer, ex-private tutor, substitute teacher, and ESL coach, at your service." He paused, frowning at the ceiling. "Oh, and part-time volunteer, if we're counting the Youth Center as work."

Kimiko stared. "Wait, run that by me again?"

Snorting, he retracted his arm. "C'mon, girl, really? _You_ won the game, fair and square. Least you could do was pay attention when you got your prize."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yeah, but I didn't expect you to name, like, half a dozen jobs, seeing how you previously claimed to be a 'professional slacker'."

Raimundo smirked, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, well, which would you have believed?"

Kimiko started to protest, but cut herself off, pursing her lips at him. Another attempt at arguing sputtered and died, and she put her hands on her hips. "Why so many?" she finally articulated.

He blinked. "I don't know. I like having lots of different kinds of work. Keeps 'em from getting boring. I had to give up training and tutoring, though - not enough takers, not enough time."

His openness made her eyes widen, and she sprang forward, catching his wrist and tugging him into her room. "What did you go to school for?" she asked eagerly.

"Ah-" Raimundo blinked as Kimiko pushed him into the purple armchair. He rubbed the back of his neck, and she plopped onto her bed and smiled at him. His cheeks pinked. "Teaching, mostly. I studied Portuguese language and literature and combined it with an Education major. Pretty easy B.A. for a native speaker." He laughed. "But what high school in the States hires a teacher for Portuguese, right? So I substitute teach, and I coach ESL."

Kimiko furrowed her brow. "And you work at a restaurant...?"

He nodded. "Yeah, some days I cook, and some days I waiter."

"What restaurant?" she asked, a mischievous grin lighting her face.

"Oh, no." He pushed her away, returning her smirk. "I ain't telling you _nada_."

She frowned. "Isn't that Spanish?"

He stuck his tongue out at her to hide his smile. "Duh, but it's Portuguese, too." He tapped her chin with a knuckle. "I'll give you a lesson sometime."

Smirking, Kimiko pushed his hand away. "Oh, yeah?"

Raimundo grinned. "_Sim, se tu pode tolerarme por tão tempo._"

She crinkled her nose at him. "That better not have been an insult."

His grin widened. "_¿Como saberias?_"

Kimiko leaned over and punched his arm. "What do you want to actually _do_?"

Raimundo paused, mulling over her question. "Well, one school keeps bringing me in for more and more subbing jobs, which usually means they're looking into hiring you full time. So, probably something with that. But I really like coaching ESL, so..." He shrugged. "I'm happy with all the things I'm doing right now."

Kimiko eyed him. "It doesn't get busy or anything?"

Raimundo sighed, counting on his fingers. "Weekdays, I leave open for subbing and the Youth Center. Twice weekly in the late afternoon, I coach ESL. Nights and weekends, I work at the restaurant. They don't overlap much." A grin split his face. "Any more questions?"

Kimiko chewed her busted lip, then held up a finger. "Just one." Her eyes flickered away, then back to him. "Did... did you hold back yesterday?"

Raimundo cocked a brow at her. "I did a backflip off a basketball hoop, and you're asking me if I held back." She only looked at him, so he sighed, "No, Kimiko, I didn't _let_ you win." His brow furrowed. "You're the one who's always pointing out how I don't let _anyone _win. Why would you think that?

Her face heated up, and she looked away, toying with her hair. "Well, you kept staring at me!" Her hand rubbed her bruised neck of its own accord as she spat, "I didn't put on all that concealer for you to stare anyway!"

There was no response, so she glared in his direction. He was biting his lip, his fingers kneading the fabric of the chair. When their eyes met, his mouth twisted upward against his teeth. He snorted and then exploded into laughter, clutching the arm of the chair for support.

Cheeks burning, Kimiko threw her pillow at him. "It's not funny!" It bounced off his head, and he choked and laughed harder. Her mouth tightening into a grim line, she stomped over and slapped him upside the head. The laughter died, and Raimundo looked up at her, eyes clouding. "It's _not funny_, you _ass_," she hissed, clenching her fists. Her bad eye twinged, and she felt something on her cheek.

His face faltered, and he spoke softly. "Ay. I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you." She glowered at him, and he stood. His hands cupped her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he repeated, quieter, his thumbs massaging her skin. "Please don't cry."

Blinking, Kimiko jerked away and swiped her face with the back of her wrist. It came away wet. A growl emerged from her chest, and she scrubbed at her eyes with both hands.

"Hey!" Raimundo caught her wrists. "Don't- You'll hurt-"

"Let _go_, Raimundo!" she snapped, yanking her arms free. She glared at him, then snarled, "I'm going to get dressed."

He studied her for a moment, his eyes lingering on the finger marks on her neck. Finally, he rubbed his cheek and left, muttering in Portuguese under his breath.

* * *

><p>Kimiko pulled up to the back of the worn brick building and cut the engine. Sinking back in the driver's seat, she sighed and rubbed her face. "What am I doing?" she groaned, looking at the Youth Center through her fingers.<p>

There was no response from the building, so with another sigh, she tugged the keys from the ignition. Slamming the car door behind her, she crossed the parking lot, her shoulders hunched. She hurried across the sidewalk. Her eyes darted around, searching for any watchers. Upon reaching the back door, she grabbed the knob and turned it. It stuck on the lock, and she stood dumbly, staring at the door, her hand clutching the knob.

"Forget something?"

Kimiko jerked around. "Are you following me?" she demanded.

Makoto clapped his good hand against his thigh. "Good job, Kimiko. That only took you a week."

She took a menacing step towards him, holding up a fist. "Back off, Makoto."

"Or what?" he laughed, taking his own step. She wavered but stood her ground, and he smirked. "Saw your little basketball game, by the way. It was..." He paused, his eyes searching the sky. "Cute."

Her cheeks reddened. " '_Cute_'?" she snarled.

"Sure," he leered. "The way you thought you won, that was adorable."

"I _did_ win," she snapped, clenching and unclenching her fingers.

"And who told you that, the playboy?" Makoto chuckled, slouching casually. "The guy can do a backflip off a basketball hoop and make shots without looking, and somehow _you_ won the game."

She flinched back, and with a grin he stepped closer. "I mean," he continued, "he trashes that Chinese kid-"

"_Omi_," Kimiko spat.

"-but he lets _you_ win." Makoto's smile seared her. "Must suck knowing that he thinks you're less capable than a ten-year-old."

She lurched towards him, fist raised, but a hand clasped her shoulder. She stopped as Makoto's face turned grim, his eyes narrowing. The hand drew her back, gentle yet firm.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Fung stated, his hand heavy on Kimiko's shoulder. "I don't believe we've met, mister...?"

"We haven't," Makoto replied bluntly. His eyes darkened, raking over Kimiko as he adjusted his sling. "Later, Kim," he said. He threw a leg over a motorcycle, kickstarted the engine, and revved out of the parking lot.

Kimiko watched the orange bike race around the corner. She swallowed and turned to the older man. "I could have handled him," she whispered, her voice rough.

Mr. Fung studied her with eyes like rainwater. "Of course," he said, releasing her shoulder. "Won't you come in?"

She entered the Youth Center, and Mr. Fung guided her to the aging kitchenette she had passed on her last visit. Seating herself at the card table, she folded her hands in her lap and waited. Mr. Fung pulled a can of coffee grounds from a peeling cabinet.

"Your visit is most unexpected, Miss Tohomiko," he told her, measuring a few tablespoons into the filter. "Raimundo is not here today-"

"I know," she interrupted, only to blush as Mr. Fung cocked a brow at her. She pressed her fingertips together. "I was actually kind of hoping you wouldn't tell him I was here." She looked up at him through her lashes. "Or Clay, for that matter."

Mr. Fung started the coffeemaker and sat opposite her at the card table. "You have my confidence."

Kimiko inhaled. "I want to know about Raimundo."

Mr. Fung tilted his head. "Why not ask him?"

She exhaled. "Because I can never decide if he's making fun of me or not."

"I see." Mr. Fung laid his palms on the table. "Well, Raimundo can be rather... difficult."

Kimiko snorted, and he smiled. Collecting herself, she tentatively returned the expression. Mr. Fung cleared his throat. "Why don't we start with his work here? That seemed to interest you."

"I wasn't interested!" she protested, her cheeks reddening. Mr. Fung cocked a brow. She coughed and fumbled, "He just... doesn't seem the type."

"Perhaps not at first glance," Mr. Fung acknowledged. "But Raimundo comes from a large family in a culture that places a great value on family. He was raised to help take care of both his younger siblings and his elderly relatives - and by consequence, to take care of those smaller and weaker than himself." Mr. Fung spread his hands in front of him. "When he moved here, he needed community service hours to fill a college entrance requirement. He found the Youth Center during an exploration of town and became interested in working here when he was warned away by his college advisor."

" 'Warned away'?" Kimiko asked, her brow furrowing.

Mr. Fung motioned to the kitchenette as he stood and poured two mugs of coffee. "As you can see, the Youth Center is not in the best condition." He placed a mug in front of her and sat down again. "And, as you have experienced, it is not in the best part of town-" She opened her mouth to protest, but his knowing look silenced her. "And," he continued, when she quieted, "it does not work with the best children." He took a sip of his coffee. "We receive little charity."

Mr. Fung let her mull that over before continuing, "Raimundo visited his college advisor to ask for approval on his community service. She tried to direct him towards a more... appealing project." A small smile stretched his mouth. "Raimundo became determined to volunteer here. He told me later that it reminded him of where he grew up, of the children he sometimes saw on the streets. He said-" His smile grew. "-that it was unfair that the people who needed the most help should get the least."

Kimiko warmed her palms on her mug as Mr. Fung concluded, "He has volunteered here for almost four years now."

She rubbed her thumbs down the ceramic mug. "I see," she murmured.

Mr. Fung tilted his head. "You seem disappointed."

Her eyes widened. "No, no! Not at all. Um..." She toyed with her hair. "I can't really explain it."

Nodding, Mr. Fung took a long drink of his coffee. He set the mug on the table with a soft thmmp. "Why did you wish to know about Raimundo?"

"Ah..." Kimiko stirred her chilling coffee with her finger. "I don't know. I just... I need more information. I don't have enough info, and I feel so... so..." She frowned and then, suddenly, hissed, "He pisses me off. He keeps... Augh!" She strangled the air in front of her with one hand. "It's like he's _dangling_ something in front of me and then yanking it away at the last second, and laughing at me the whole time. And I hate, _hate_, the way he _looks_ at me, like-" She fumed, silent for a moment.

Mr. Fung cocked a brow.

She exhaled, letting out the steam. "I just... need to know more. I don't have enough information."

For a long moment, Mr. Fung only watched her, and she fidgeted under his even gaze. Finally, he stood, gesturing for her to follow. "Well," he said, "I will be here when you wish to know more." He produced a key from his pocket and pressed it into her palm. "And you are welcome to come here anytime, Miss Tohomiko." His eyes locked with hers. "Anytime."

Kimiko stared at him, then wrapped her fingers around the key. "Thank you," she murmured.

Mr. Fung smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Of course," he responded. "Please take care, and-" His smile turned wry. "-try not to hurt Raimundo too much. I need him to wash the floors tomorrow."

She snickered and waved, but stopped as she opened the back door. "Oh," she said.

Furrowing his brow, Mr. Fung followed her out to see her car, tires slashed, windows smashed, doors keyed.

* * *

><p><em>The plot keeps chugging right along. Clay will come back in for the next chapter, promise. He needs a little more love - when I finish this, I've got a story just for him.<em>

_Throughout the series, Raimundo was generally regarded as untrustworthy, even before his (very brief) betrayal. I never understood what he really did to deserve that, but I realize now that it's just his attitude. He's smug, cocky, brash. He always seems to be laughing at you, even if he isn't. Thus, he always seems to be lying, or at least playing with the truth, although he is seldom dishonest._

_Meanwhile, Kimiko is a "planner" type. She likes to know everything about the terrain before she moves ahead. Raimundo's attitude is thus very grating to her._

_This chapter's something of a filler, which made it a bit hard to write. I hope you enjoy it, anyway._

_The next chapter may be slow as well, since I move back to college soon. Check back in a week or two!_

_Let me know what you think and, as always, thanks for reading._


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